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WORKS OF THE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY, 

PUBLISHED BY 

TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

THE ADVENTUEES OF AMYAS LEIGH. 1 Vol. $1.25. 
TWO YEARS AGO. 1 Vol. $1.25. 

POETICAL WORKS. 1 Vol. 75 Cts. 

THE HEROES ; or, GREEK FAIRY TALES. 1 Vol. 75 Cts. 
GLAUCUS. 1 Vol. 50 Cts. 


WE ST WARD H O! 


THE 


VOYAGES AND ADVENTURES 


. OP 

% 


Sib AMYAS LEIGH, Knight, 

>- *■ 

Of Burrough, in the County of Devon, 


IN THE REIGN OP 


HEE MOST GLOEIOUS MAJESTY OUEEN ELIZABETH. 


RENDERED INTO MODERN ENGLISH 

By CHARLES KINGSLEY, 

Author of “ Hypatia,” “ Alton Locke," &c., &c. ^ 


FOUHTH EDITION. 


) > 
•> * »’ 


BOSTON: 

TICK NOR AND FIELDS. 


M DCCC LYII. 




Ape' 

A" 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


Cjaua.S 'ib 




< '■ 
%*. < I 


c A m!e u I d g k : 

e ^ , 

THURSTON AND TORRY, PRINTERS. 




T 0 

THE RAJAH SIR JAMES BROOKE, K. C. B., 

AND 

GEORGE AUGUSTUS- SELWYN, 

BISHOP OF NEW ZEALAND, 

iJoolfe in Hetricatetf, 

By one who (unknown to them) has no other method of ex- 
pressing his admiration and reverence for their characters. 

That type of English virtue, at once manful and godly, 
practical and enthusiastic, prudent and self-sacrificing, which 
he has tried to depict in these pages, they have exhibited in 
a form even purer and more heroic than that in which he 
has drest it, and than that in which it was exhibited by the 
worthies whom Elizabeth, without distinction of rank or age, 
gathered round her in the ever glorious wars of her great 
reign. 


C. K. 





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CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB 

I. now MR. GXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD . . . 1 

II. HOW Amvas came home the first time . . 18 

III. OF TWO gentlemen OF WALES, AND HOW THEY HUNTED 

WITH THE HOUNDS, AND YET RAN WITH THE DEER 47 

IV. THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE . . 64 

V.’ CLOVELLY COURT IN THE* OLDEN TIME .... 87 

VI. THE COOMBS OF THE FAR WEST . . . . HI 

VII. THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXEN- 

HAM, OF PLYMOUTH ..... 119 

VTII. HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE WAS 

FOUNDED 157 

IX. HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY . . . 173 

X. HOW THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS HOOK WITH 

HIS OWN FLESH 205 

XI. HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE’s LEGATE . . 215 

XII. HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE . .231 

XIII. HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN . . 256 

XIV. HOW SALVATION YEO SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS 265 

• 

XV. HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE 


OF AN OATH 288 

XVI. THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE OF THE GOOD SHIP 

ROSE 298 

XVII. HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS AND FOUND NO MAN 

THEREIN ........ 313 

» 

XVIII. HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS AT MARGARITA . . 319 


« 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. WHAT befell at LA GUAYRA 330 

XX. SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS . 353 

XXI. HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION UNDER THE TREE 

AT HIGUEROTE 376 

XXII. THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES . . . i 392 

XXIII. THE BANKS OF THE META 366 

XXIV. HOW AMYAS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL . . 411 

XXV. HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN . . . . . 431 

XXVI. HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON . . . 455 

XXVII. HOW SALVATION YEO FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN 484 

XXVIII. HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME . . ' 497"" 

XXIX. HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS STOPPED BY THE 

queen’s COMMAND . . ... . 510 

XXX. HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS TESTIFIED AGAINST 

CROAKERS . . . . . . •#. 534 

XXXI. THE GREAT ARMADA 549 

* » 

XXXII. HOW AMYAS THREW HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA . . . 566 

XXXIII. HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL . . . 583 


WESTWARD II 0 ! 


* CHAPTER I. 

HOW MR. OXENIIAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 

* The hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea.’ 

All who have travelled through the delicious scenery of ■ 
North Devon must needs know the little white town of Bide- 
ford, which slopes m)wards from its broad tide-river paved with 
yellow sands, and' many-arched old bridge where salmon wait 
for autumn floods, toward the pleasant upland on the west. 
Above the town the hills close in, cushioned with deep oak 
woods, through which juts here and there a crag of fern-fringed 
slate ; below they lower, and open more and more in softly- 
rounded knolls, and fertile squares of red and green, till they 
sink into the wide expanse of hazy flats, rich salt marshes, and 
rolling sand hills, where Torridge joins her sister Taw, and both 
together flow quietly toward the broad surges of the bar, and 
the everlasting thunder of the long Atlantic swell. Pleasantly 
the old town stands there, beneath its soft Italian sky, fanned 
day and night by the fresh ocean breeze*, whicli forbids alike 
the keen winter frosts, and the fierce thunder heats of the mid- 
land ; and pleasantly it has stood there for now, perhaps, eight 
hundred years, since the first Gienvile, cousin of the Conqueror, 
returning from the conquest of South Wales, drew round him 
trusty Saxon serfs, and free Norse rovers with their golden 
curls, and dark Silurian Britons from the Swansea shore, and 
all the mingled blood which still gives to the seaward folk of 
the next county their strength and intellect, and, even in these 
levelling days, their peculiar beauty of face and form. < 

1 


2 


HOW MR. OXENHAM 


But at the time whereof I write, Bideford was not merely a 
pleasant country town, whose quay was haunted by a few 
coasting craft ; it was one of the chief ports of England. It 
furnished seven ships to fight the Armada : even more than a 
century afterwards, say the chroniclers, ‘ it sent more vessels to 
the northern trade, than any port in England, saving (strange 
juxtaposition !) London and Topsham,’ and was the centre of 
a local civilization and enterprise, small perhaps compared with 
the vast efforts of the present day ; but who dare despise the 
day of small things, if it has proved to be the dawn of mighty 
ones ? And it is to the sea-life and labor of Bideford, and 
Dartmouth, and Topsham, and Plymouth (then a petty place), 
and many another little western town, that England owes the 
foundation of her naval and commercial glory. It was the men 
of Devon, the Drakes and Hawkins’, Gilberts and Raleighs, 
Grenviles and Oxenhams, and a host more of ‘ forgotten wor- 
thies,’ whom we shall learn one day to honor as they deserve, 
to whom she owes her commerce, her colonies, her very exist- 
ence. For had they not first crippled, by their West Indian 
raids, the ill-gotten resources of the Spaniard, and then crushed 
his last huge effort in Britain’s Salamis, the glorious fight of 
1588, what had we been by now, but a Popish appanage of a 
world-tyranny as cruel as heathen Rome itself, and far more 
devilish ? ^ 

It is in memory of these men, their voyages and their battles, 
their faith and their valor, their heroic lives and no less heroic 
deaths, that I write this book ; and if now and then 1 shall seem 
to warm into a style somewhat too stilted and pompous, let me 
be excused for my subject’s sake, fit rather to have been sung 
than said, and to have proclaimed to all true English hearts, 
not as a novel but as an epic (which some man may yet gird 
himself to write), the same great message which the songs of 
Troy, and the Persian wars, and the trophies of Marathon and 
Salamis, spoke to the hearts of all true Greeks of old. ^ 

One bright summer’s afternoon, in the year of grace 1575, 
a tall and fair boy came lingering along Bideford quay, in his 
scholar’s gown, with satchel and slate in hand, watching wist- 
fully the shipping and the sailors, till, just after he had passed 
the bottom of the High Street, he came opposite to one of the 
many taverns which looked out upon the river. In the open 
bay-window sat merchants and gentlemen, discoursing over 
their afternoon’s draught of sack ; and outside the door was 
gathered a group of sailors, listening earnestly to some one 
who stood in the midst. The boy, all alive for any sea-news, 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


3 


must needs go up to them, and take his place among the sailor- 
lads who were peeping and whispering under the elbows of the 
men, and so came in for the following speech, delivered in a 
loud bold voice, with a strong Devonshire accent, and a fair 
sprinkling of oaths. 

‘ If you don’t believe me, go and see, or stay here and grow 
all over blue-mould. I tell you, as I am a gentleman, I saw it 
with these eyes, and so did Salvation Yeo there, through a win- 
dow in the lower room ; and we measured the heap, as I am a 
Christened man, seventy foot long, ten foot broad, and twelve 
foot high, of silver bars, and each bar between a thirty and 
forty pound weight. And says Captain Drake : “ There, my 
lads of Devon, i’ye brought you to the mouth of the world’s 
treasure-house, and it’s your own fault now, if you don’t sweep 
it out as ^mpty as a stockfish.’” 

^ Why didn’t you bring some^of they home, then, Mr. Oxen- 
ham ? ’ 

‘ Why weren’t you there to help to carry them ? We would 
have brought ’em away, safe enough, and young Drake and I 
had broke the door abroad already, but Captain Drake goes off 
in a dead faint ; and when we came to look, he had a wound in 
his leg you might have laid three finge* in, and his boots were 
full of blood, and had been, for an hour or more ; but the heart 
of him was that, il^at he never knew it till he dropped, and then 
his brother and 1 'got him away to the boats, he kicking and 
struggling, and bidding us let him go on with the fight, though 
every step he took in the sand was in a pool of blood ; and so 
we got off. And tell me, ye sons of shotten herrings, wasn’t 
it worth more to save him than the dirty silver.? for silver we 
can get again, brave boys : there’s more fish in the sea than 
ever came out of it, and more silver in Nombre de Dios than 
would pave all the streets in the west country : but of such 
Captains as Franky Drake, heaven never makes but one at a 
time, and if we lose him, good-bye to England’s luck, say I, 
and who don’t agree, let him choose his weapons, and I’m his 
man.’ 

He who delivered this harangue was a tall and sturdy per- 
sonage, with a florid, black-bearded face, and bold, restless, 
dark eyes, who leaned, with crossed legs and arms akimbo, 
against the wall of the house ; and seemed in the eyes of the 
school-boy a very magnifico, some prince or duke at least. He 
was dressed (contrary to all sumptuary laws of the time) in a 
suit of crimson velvet, a little the worse, perhaps, for wear ; by 
his side were a long Spanish rapier and a brace of daggers, gaudy 
enough about the hilts ; his fingers sparkled with rings ; he had 


4 


HOW MR. OXEN HAM 


two or three gold chains about his neck, and large ear-rings 
in his ears, be!)ind one of which a red rose was stuck jauntily 
enough among the glossy black curls ; on his head was a broad 
velvet Spanish hat, in which, instead of a feather, was fastened 
with a great gold clasp a whole Quezal bird, whose gorgeous 
plumage of fretted golden green shone like one entire precious 
stone. As he finished his speech, he took oft' the said hat, and 
looking at the bird in it — 

‘Look ye, my lads, did you ever see such a fowl as that 
before ? That’s the bird which th0.^1d Indian kings of Mexico 
let no one wear but their own selves ; and therefore I wear it, 
— I, John Oxenham of South Tawton, for a sign to all brave 
lads of Devon, that as the Spaniards arei jlie masters of the 
Indians, we’re the masters of the Spaniards:’ and he replaced 
his hat. 

A murmur of applause followed : but one hinted, that he 
‘ doubted the Spaniards were too many for them.’ 

‘Too many.? How many men did we take Nombre de Dios 
with.? Seventy-three were we, and no more, when we sailed 
out of Plymouth Sound ; and before we saw the Spanish Main, 
half were “ gustados,” used up, as the Dons say, with the 
scurvy; and in Port Pffeasant, Captain Rawse of Cowes fell in 
with us, and that gavcr us some, thirty hands more; and with 
that handful, my lads, only fifty-threfe in all, iye picked the lock 
of the new world ! And who did we lose buf our trumpeter, who 
stood braying like an ass in the middle of the square, instead 
of taking care of his neck like a Christian .? 1 tell you, those 

Spaniards are rank cowards, as all bullies are. They pray to 
a woman, the idolatrous rascals ! and no wonder they fight like 
women.’ 

‘ You’m right. Captain,’ sang out a tall, gaunt fellow, who 
stood close to him ; ‘one west countryman can fight two easter- 
lings, and an easterling can beat three Dons any'day. Eh ! 
my lads of Devon .? 

‘ For 0 ! it’s the herrings and the good brown beef, 

And the cider and the cream so white ; 

0 ! they are the making of the jolly Devon lads. 

For to play, and eke to fight.’ 

‘ Come,’ said Oxenham, ‘ come along ! Who lists .? Who lists .? 
Who’ll make his fortune .? 

‘ 0 ! who will join, jolly mariners all ? 

And who will join, says he, 0 ! 

To fill his pockets with the good red gold, 

By sailing on the sea, 0 ! ’ 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


5 


‘Who’ll list?’ cried the gaunt man again; ‘now’s your 
time ! We’ve got forty men to Plymouth now, ready to sail 
the minute we get back, and we want a dozen out of you Bide- 
ford men, and just a boy or two, and then we’m off and away, 
make our fortunes, or go to heaven. 

‘ Our bodies in the sea so deep, 

Our souls in heaven to rest! 

"Where valiant seamen, one and all. 

Hereafter shall be blest! ’ 

‘ Now,’ said Oxenham, ‘ you won’t let the Plymouth men say 
that the Bideford men daren’t follow them ? North Devon 
against -South, it is. Who’ll join? who’ll join? It is. but 
a step of a way, after all, and sailing as smooth as a duck- 
pond as soon as you’re past Cape Finisterre. I’ll run a Clo- 
velly herring-boat there and back for a wager of twenty-pound, 
and never ship a bucketful all the way. Who’ll join ? Don’t 
think you’re buying a pig in a poke. I know the road, and 
Salvation Yeo, here, too, who was the gunner’s mate, as well as 
I do the narrow seas, and better. You ask him to show you 
the chart of it, now, and see if he don’t tell you over the rut- 
tier as well as Drake himself.’ 

On which the gaunt man pulled frorti under his arm a great 
white buffalo horn covered with rough etchings of land and sea, 
and held it up to the admiring ring.* 

‘See here, boys all, and behold the pictur of the place, 
dra’ed out so natural as ever was life. I got mun from a Por- 
tugal, down to the Azores; and he’d pricked mun out, and 
pricked mun out, wheresoever he’d sailed, and whatsoever he’d 
seen. Take mun in your hands now, Simon Evans, take mun 
in your hands ; look mun over, and I’ll warrant you’ll know 
the way in five minutes so well as ever a shark in the seas.’ 

And the horn was passed from hand to hand ; while Oxen- 
ham, who saw that his hearers were becoming moved, called 
through the open window for a great tankard of sack, and 
passed that from hand to hand after the horn. 

The school-boy, who had been devouring with eyes and ears 
all which passed, had contrived by this time to edge himself 
into the inner ring, now stood face to face with the hero of the 
emerald crest, and got as many peeps as he could at the won- 
der. But when he saw the sailors, one after another, having 
turned it over awhile, come forward and offer to join Mr. Oxen- 
ham, his soul burnt within him for a nearer view of that won- 
drous horn, as magical in its effects as that of Tristrem, or the 
enchanters’ in Ariosto ; and when the group had somewhat 
1 * 


6 


now MR. OXENIIAM 


broken up, and Oxenham was going into the tavern with his 
recruits, he asked boldly for a nearer sight of the marvel, which 
was granted at once. 

And now to his astonished gaze displayed themselves cities 
and harbors, dragons and elephants, whales which fought with 
sharks, plate ships of Spain, islands with apes and palm-trees, 
each with its name over- written, and here and there, ‘ Here is 
gold ; ’ and again, ‘ Much gold and silver ; ’ inserted most 
probably, as the words were in English, by the hands of Mr. 
Oxenham himself. Lingeringly and longingly the boy turned 
it round and round', and thought the owner of it more fortunate 
than Khan or Kaiser. Oh, if he could but possess that horn, 
what needed he on earth beside to make him blest ! 

‘ I say, will you sell this ? ’ 

‘ Yea, marry, or my own soul, if I can get the worth of it.’ 

‘I want the horn, — I don’t want your soul ; it’s somewhat 
of a stale sole, for aught I know ; and there are plenty of fresh 
ones in the bay.’ 

And therewith, after much fumbling, he pulled out a tester 
(the only one he had), and asked if that would buy it. 

‘ That ? no, nor twenty of them.’ 

The boy thought over what a good knight-errant would do in 
such case, and then answered, ‘ Tell you what ; I’ll fight you 
.for it.’ 

‘ Thank’ee, Sir ! ’ 

‘ Break the jackanapes’ head for him, Yeo,’ said Oxenham. 

‘ Call me jackanapes again, and I break yours. Sir.’ And 
the boy lifted his fist fiercely. 

Oxenham looked at him a minute smilingly. ‘Tut! tut! 
my man, hit one of your own size, if you will, and spare little' 
folk like me ! ’ 

‘ If I have a boy’s age. Sir, I have a man’s fist. I shall be 
fifteen years old this month, and know how to answer any one 
who insults me.’ 

‘ Fifteen, my young cockerel ? you look liker twenty,’ said 
Oxenham, with an admiring glance at the lad’s broad limbs, 
keen blue eyes, curling golden locks, and round honest face. 

‘ Fifteen ? If T had half-a-dozen such lads as you,. I would 
make knights of them before 1 died. Eh, Yeo > ’ 

‘ He’ll do,’ said Yeo ; ‘ he will make a brave gamecock in 
a year or two, if he dares ruffle up so early at a tough old hen- 
master like the Captain.’ 

At which there was a general laugh, in which Oxenham 
joined as loudly as any, and then bade the lad tell him why he 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


7 . 

‘ Because,’ said he, looking up boldly, ‘ I want to go to sea. 

I want to see the Indies. I want to fight the Spaniards. Though 
I am a gentleman’s son, I’d a deal liever be a cabin-boy on 
board your ship.’ And the lad having hurried out his say 
Hercely enough, dropped his head again. 

‘And you shall,’ cried Oxenham, with a great oath; ‘and 
take a galleon, and dine off carbonadoed Dons. Whose son 
are you, my gallant fellow ’ 

‘ Mr. Leigh’s, of Burrough Court.’ 

‘ Bless his soul ! I know him as well as I do the Eddystone, 
and his kitchen too. Who sups with him to-night ? ’ 

‘ Sir Richard Grenvile.’ 

‘ Dick Grenvile ? I did not know he was in town. Go home, 
and tell your father John Oxenham will come and keep him 
company. There, off with you ! I’ll make all straight with 
the good gentleman, and you shall have your venture with me ; 
and as for the horn, let him have the horn, Yeo, and I’ll give 
you a noble for it.* 

‘ Not a penny, noble Captain. If young master will take a 
poor mariner’s gift, there it is, for the sake of his love to the 
calling, and Heaven send him luck therein.’ And the good 
fellow, with the impulsive generosity of a true sailor, thrust the 
horn into the boy’s hands, and walked away to escape thanks. 

‘And now,’ quoth Oxenham, ‘ my merry men all, make up 
your minds what mannered men you be minded to be before 
you take your bounties. I want none of your rascally lurch- 
ing longshore vermin, who get five pounds out of this captain, 
and ten out of that, and let him sail without them after all, 
while they are stowed away under women’s mufflers, and in 
tavern cellars. If any man is of that humor, he had better to 
cut himself up, and salt himself down in a barrel for pork, be- 
fore he meets me again ; for by this light, let me catch him, 
be it seven years hence, and if I do not tut his throat upon the 
streets, it’s a pity ! But if any man will be true brother to 
me, true brother to him I’ll be, come wreck or prize, storm or 
calm, salt water or fresh, victuals or none, share and fare alike ; 
and here’s my hand upon it, for every man and all ; and so — 

‘ Westward ho! with a rumbelow, 

And hurra for the Spanish Main, 0! * 

After which oration, Mr. Oxenham swaggered into the 
tavern, followed by his new men ; and the boy took his way 
homewards, nursing his precious horn, trembling between 
hope and fear, and blushing with maidenly shame, and a half- 
sense of wrong-doing at having revealed suddenly to a stranger 


8 


HOW MR. OXENHAM 


the darling wish which he had hidden from his father and 
mother ever since he was ten years old. 

Now this young gentleman, Amyas Leigh, though come of 
as good blood as any in Devon, and having lived all his life 
in what we should even now call the very best society, and* 
being (on account of the valor, courtesy, and truly noble 
qualities which he showed forth in his most eventful life) 
chosen by me as the hero and centre of this story, was not, 
saving for his good looks, by any means what would be called 
now-a-days an ‘interesting’ youth, still less a ‘highly-educa- 
ted’ one ; for, with the exception of a little Latin, which had 
been driven into him by repeated blows, as if it had been a 
nail, he knew no books whatsoever, save his Bible, his Prayer- 
book, the old ‘ Mort d’Arthur ’ of Caxton’s edition, which lay 
in the great bay window in the hall, and the translation of 
‘ Las Casas’ History of the West Indies,’ which lay beside it, 
lately done into English under the title of ‘ The Cruelties of 
the Spaniards.’ He devoutly believed in fairies, whom he 
called pixies ; and held that they changed babies, and made 
the mushroom rings on the downs to dance in. When he had 
warts or burns, he went to the white witch at Northam to 
charm them away ; he thought that the sun moved round the 
earth, and that the moon had some kindred with a Cheshire 
cheese. He held that the swallows slept all the winter at the 
bottom of the horse-pond ; talked, like Raleigh, Grenvile, and 
other low persons, with a broad Devonshire accent ; and was 
in many other respects so very ignorant a youth, that any pert 
monitor in a national school might have had a hearty laugh at 
him. Nevertheless, this ignorant young savage, ‘ vacant of 
the glorious gains ’ of the nineteenth century, children’s litera- 
ture and science made easy, and, worst of all, of those im- 
proved views of English history now current among our 
railway essayists, which consists in believing all persons, male 
and female, before the year 1688 , and nearly all after it, to 
have been either hypocrites or fools, hbd learnt certain things 
which he would hardly have been taught just now in any 
school in England ; for his training had been that of the old 
Persians, ‘ to speak the truth, and to draw the bow,’ both of 
which savage virtues he had acquired to perfection, as well as 
the equally savage ones of enduring pain cheerfully, and of 
believing it to be the finest thing in the world to be a gentle- 
man ; by which word he had been taught to understand the 
careful habit of causing needless pain to no human being, 
poor or rich, and of taking pride in giving up his own pleasure 
for the sake of those who were weaker than himself. More- 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


9 


over, having been intrusted for the last year with the breaking 
of a colt, and the care of a cast of young hawks which his 
father had received from Lundy Isle, he had been profiting 
much by the means of those coarse and frivolous amusements, 
in perseverance, thoughtfulness, and the habit of keeping his 
temper ; and though he had never had a single ‘ object lesson,’ 
or been taught to ‘ use his intellectual powers,’ he knew the 
names and ways of every bird, and fish, and fly, and could 
read, as cunningly as the oldest sailor, the meaning of every 
drift of cloud which crossed the heavens. Lastly, he had 
been for some time past, on account of his extraordinary size 
and strength, undisputed cock of the school, and the most 
terrible fighter among all Bideford boys ; in which brutal habit 
he took much delight, and contrived, strange as it may seem, 
to extract from it good, not only for himself, but for others, 
doing justice among his school-fellows with a heavy hand, and 
succoring the oppressed and afflicted ; so that he was the 
terror of all the sailor-lads, and the pride and stay of all the 
town’s-boys and girls, and hardly considered that he had done 
his duty in his calling if he went home without beating a big 
lad for bullying a little one. For the rest, he never thought 
about thinking, or felt about feeling; and had no ambition 
whatsoever beyond pleasing his father and mother, getting by 
honest means the maximum of ‘red quarrenders ’ and mazard 
cherries, and going to sea when he was big enough. Neither 
was he what would be now-a-days called by many a pious 
child ; for though he said his Creed and Lord’s prayer night 
and morning, and went to the service at the church every fore- 
noon, and read the day’s Psalms with his mother every even- 
ing, and had learnt from her and from his father (as he proved 
well in after life), that it was infinitely noble to do right, and 
infinitely base to do wrong, yet (the age of children’s reli- 
gious books not having yet dawned on the world) he knew 
nothing more of theology, or of his own soul, than is con- 
tained in the Church Catechism. It is a question, however, 
on the whole, whether, though grossly ignorant (according to 
our modern notions) in science and religion, he was altogether 
untrained in manhood, virtue, and godliness; and whether the 
barbaric narrowness of his Information was not somewhat 
counterbalanced both in him and in the rest of his generation 
by the depth, and breadth, and healthiness of his Education. 

So let us watch him up the hill as he goes hugging his horn, 
to tell all that has passed to his mother, from whom he never 
had hidden anything in his life, save only that sea-fever ; and 
that only because he foreknew that it would give her pain ; 


10 


HOW MR. OXENHAM 


and because, moreover, being a prudent and sensible lad, he 
knew that he was not yet old enough to go, and that, as he 
expressed it to her that afternoon, ‘ there was no use hollaing 
till he was out of the wood.’ 

So as he goes up between the rich lane-banks, heavy with 
drooping ferns and honeysuckle ; out upon the windy down 
toward the old Court, nestled amid its ring of wind-dipt oaks ; 
through the gray gateway into the home-close ; and then he 
pauses a moment to look around ; first at the wide bay to the 
westward, with its southern wall of purple cliffs ; then at the 
dim Isle of Lundy far away at sea ; then at the cliffs and 
downs of Morte and Braunlon, right in front of him ; then at 
the vast yellow sheet of rolling sandhill, and green alluvial 
plain dotted with red cattle, at his feet, through which the 
silver estuary winds onward toward the sea. Beneath him on 
his right, the Torridge, like a land-locked lake, sleeps broad 
and bright between the old park of Tapeley and the charmed 
rock of the Hubbastone, where, seven hundred years ago, the 
Norse rovers landed to lay siege to Kenwith Castle, a mile 
away on his left hand ; and not three fields away are the old 
stones of ‘The Bloody Corner,’ where the retreating Danes, 
cut off^from their ships, made their last fruitless stand against 
the Saxon sheriff and the valiant men of Devon. Within 
that charmed rock, so Torridge boatmen tell, sleeps now the 
old Norse Viking in his leaden coffin, with all his fairy trea- 
sure and his crown of gold ; and as the boy looks at the 
spot, he fancies, and almost hopes, that the day may come 
when he shall have to do his duty against the invader as boldly 
as the men of Devon did then. And past him, far below, 
upon the soft south-eastern breeze, the stately ships go sliding 
out to sea. When shall he sail in them, and see the wonders 
of the deep ? And as he stands there with beating heart and 
kindling eye ; the cool breeze whistling through his long fair 
curls, he is a symbol, though he knows it not, of brave young 
England longing to wing its way out of its island prison to 
i^iscover and to traffic, to colonize and to civilize, until no 
wind can sweep the earth which does not bear the echoes of 
an English voice. Patience, young Amyas ! Thou too shalt 
forth, and westward ho, beyond thy wildest dreams ; and see 
brave sights, and do brave deeds, which no man has since the 
foundation of the world. Thou, too, shalt face invaders 
stronger and more cruel far than Dane or Norman, and bear 
thy part in that great Titan strife before the renown of which 
the name of Salamis shall fade away ! 

Mr. Oxenham came that evening to supper as he had pro- 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


11 


mised : but as people supped in those days in much the same 
manner as they do now, we may drop the thread of the story 
for a few hours, and take it up again after supper is over. 

‘ Come now, Dick Grenvile, do thou talk the good man 
round, and I’ll warrant myself to talk round the good wife.’ 

The personage whom Oxenham addressed thus familiarly, 
answered by a somewhat sarcastic smile, and, ‘ Mr. Oxenham 
gives Dick Grenvile ’ (with just enough emphasis on the ‘ Mr.’ 
and the ‘ Dick,’ to hint that a liberty had been taken with him) 
‘overmuch credit with the men. Mr. Oxenham’s credit with 
fair ladies, none can doubt. Friend Leigh, is Heard’s great 
ship home yet from the Straits ? ’ 

The speaker, known well in those days as Sir Richard 
Grenvile, Granville, Greenvil, Greenfield, with two or three 
other variations, was one of those truly heroical personages 
whom Providence, fitting always the men to their age and 
their work, had sent upon the earth whereof it takes right 
good care, not in England only, but in Spain and Italy, in 
Germany and the Netherlands, and wherever, in short, great 
men and great deeds were needed to lift the mediaeval world 
into the modern. 

And, among all the heroic faces which the painters of that 
age have preserved, none, perhaps, hardly excepting Shak- 
speare’s or Spenser’s, Alva’s or Parma’s, is more heroic than 
that of Richard Grenvile, as it stands in Prince’s ‘ Worthies of 
Devon ; ’ of a Spanish type, perhaps, (or more truly speaking, 
a Cornish), rather than an English, with just enough of the 
British element in it, to give delicacy to its massiveness. The 
forehead and whole brain are of extraordinary loftiness, and 
perfectly upright ; the nose long, aquiline, and delicately 
pointed ; the mouth fringed with a short silky beard, small 
and ripe, yet firm as granite, with just pout enough of the 
lower lip to give hint of that capacity of noble indignation 
which lay hid under its usual courtly calm and sweetness ; if 
there be a defect in the face, it is that the eyes are somewhat 
small, and close together, and the eyebrows, though delicately 
arched, and without a trace of peevishness, too closely pressed 
down upon them ; the complexion is dark, the figure tall and 
graceful ; altogether the likeness of a wise and gallant gen- 
tleman, lovely to all good men, awful to all bad men ; in 
whose presence none dare say or do a mean or a ribald thing ! 
w’hom brave men left, feeling themselves nerved to do their 
duty better, while cowards slipped away, as bats and owls 
before the sun. So he lived and moved, whether in the court 
of Elizabeth, giving his counsel among the wisest; or in the 


12 


HOW MR. OXENHAM 


streets of Bideford, capped alike by squire and merchant, 
shopkeeper and sailor; or riding along the moorland roads 
between his houses of Stow and Bideford, while every woman 
ran out to her door to look at the great Sir Richard, the pride 
of North Devon ; or sitting there in the low mullioned win- 
dow at Burrough, with his cup of malmsey before him, and 
the lute to which he had just been singing laid across his 
knees, while the red western sun streamed in upon his high 
bland forehead, and soft curling locks ; ever the same stead- 
fast, God-fearing, chivalrous man, conscious (as far as a soul 
so healthy could be conscious) of the pride of beauty, and 
strength, and valor, and wisdom, and a race and name which 
claimed direct descent from the grandfather of the Conqueror, 
and was tracked down the centuries by valiant deeds and 
noble benefits to his native shire, himself the noblest of his 
race. Men said that h? was proud : but he could not look 
round him without having something to be proud of ; that he 
was stern and harsh to his sailors : but it was only when he 
saw in them any taint of cowardice or falsehood : that he was 
subject, at moments, to such fearful fits of rage, that he had 
been seen to snatch the glasses from the table, grind them to 
pieces in his teeth, and swallow them ; but that was only when 
his indignation had been aroused by some tale of cruelty or 
oppression ; and, above all, by those West Indian devilries of 
the Spaniards, whom he regarded (and in those days rightly 
enough) as the enemies of God and man. Of this last fact 
Oxenham was well aware, and therefore felt somewhat puzzled 
and nettled, when, after having asked Mr. Leigh’s leave to 
take young Amyas with him, and set forth in glowing colors 
the purpose of his voyage, he found Sir Richard utterly un- 
willing to help him with his suit. 

‘ Heyday, Sir Richard ? You are not surely gone over to 
the side of those canting fellows (Spanish Jesuits in disguise 
every one of them, they are), who pretend to turn up their 
noses at Franky Drake as a pirate, and be hanged to them ? ’ 

‘ My friend Oxenham,’ answered he, in the sententious and 
measured style of the day, ‘ I have always held, as you should 
know by this, that Mr. Drake’s booty, as well as my good 
friend Captain Hawkins’s, is lawful prize, as being taken from 
the Spaniard, who is, not only ‘ liostis huviani generis,'' but has 
no right to the same, having robbed it violently, by torture and 
extreme iniquity, from the poor Indian, whom God aveno-e, as 
He surely will.’ 

‘ Amen,’ said Mrs. Leigh. 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


13 


‘ I say Amen too,’ quoth Oxenham, ‘ especially if it please 
Him to avenge them by English hands.’ 

‘ And I also,’ went on Sir Richard ; ‘ for the rightful owners 
of the said goods being either miserably dead, or incapable by 
reason of their servitude of ever recovering any share thereof, 
the treasure, falsely called Spanish, cannot be better bestowed 
than in building up the state of England against them, our 
natural enemies; and, thereby, in building up the weal of the 
Reformed Churches throughout the world, and the liberties of 
all nations, against a tyranny more foul and rapacious than that 
of Nero or Caligula ; which if it be not the cause of God, I for 
one, know not what God’s cause is ! ’ And as he warmed in 
his speech, his eyes flashed very fire. 

‘ Hark now ! ’ said Oxenham, ‘ who can speak more boldly 
than he ? and yet he will not help this lad to so noble an 
adventure.’ 

‘ You have asked his father and mother : what is their 
answer ? ’ 

‘ Mine is this,’ said Mr. Leigh ; ‘ if it be God’s will that my 
boy should become hereafter such a mariner as Sir Richard 
Grenvile, let him go, and God be with him ; but let him first 
abide here at home and be trained, if God give me grace, to 
become such a gentleman as Sir Richard Grenvile.’ 

Sir Richard bowed low, and Mrs. Leigh catching up the last 
word — 

‘ There, Mr. Oxenham, you cannot gainsay that, unless you 
will be discourteous to his worship. And for me — though it be 
a weak woman’s reason, yet it is a mother’s : he is my only 
child. His elder brother is far away. God only knows 
whether I shall see him again ; and what are all reports of his 
virtues and his learning to me, compared to that sweet presence 
which 1 daily miss ? Ah ! Mr. Oxenham, my beautiful Joseph 
is gone ; and though he be lord of Pharaoh’s household, yet he 
is far away in Egypt; and you will take Benjamin also ! Ah ! 
Mr. Oxenham, you have no child, or you would not ask for 
mine ! ’ 

‘ And how do you know that, my sweet Madam ? ’ said the 
adventurer, turning first deadly pale, and then glowing red. 
Her last words had" touched him to the quick in some unex- 
pected place ; and rising he courteously laid her hand to his 
lips, and said — ‘I say no more. Farewell, sweet Madam, 
and God send all men such wives as you.’ 

‘ And all wives,’ said she, smiling, ‘ such husbands as mine.’ 

‘ Nay, I will not say that,’ answered he, with a half sneer — 
and then, ‘Farewell, friend Leigh. Farewell, gallant Dick 
2 


14 


HOW MR. OXENHAM 


Grenvile. God send I see thee Lord High Admiral when I 
come home. And yet, why should I come home ? Will you 
pray for poor Jack, gentles ? ’ 

‘ Tut, tut, man ! good words,’ said Leigh ; ‘ let us drink to 
our merry meeting before you go.’ And rising, and putting the 
tankard of malmsey to his lips, he passed it to Sir Richard, who 
rose, and saying, ‘ To the fortune of a bold mariner and a gal- 
lant gentlem§in, drank, and put the cup into Oxenham’s hand. 

The adventurer’s face was flushed, and his eye wild. Whe- 
ther from the liquor he had drank during the day, or whether 
from Mrs. Leigh’s last speech, he had not been himself for a 
few minutes. He lifted the cup, and was in the act to pledge 
them, when he suddenly dropped it on the table and pointed, 
staring and trembling, up and down, and round the room, as if 
following some fluttering object. 

‘There! Do you see it.? The bird I — the bird with the 
white breast ! ’ 

Each looked at the other ; but Leigh, who was a quick- 
witted man, and an old courtier, forced a laugh instantly and 
cried — 

‘ Nonsense, brave Jack Oxenham ! Leave white birds for 
men who will show the white feather. Mrs. Leigh waits to 
pledge you.’ 

Oxenham recovered himself in a moment, pledged them all 
round, drinking deep and fiercely ; and after hearty farewells, 
departed, never hinting again at his strange exclamation. 

After he was gone, and while Leigh was attending him to 
the door, Mrs. Leigh and Grenvile kept a few minutes’ dead 
silence. At last — 

‘ God help him !’ said she. 

‘ Amen,’ said Grenvile, ‘ for he never needed it more. But, 
indeed. Madam, I put no faith in such omens.’ 

But, Sir Richard, that bird has been seen for generations 
before the death of any of his family. I know those who were 
at South Tawton when his mother died, and his brother also ; 
and they both saw it. God help him ! for, after all, he is a 
proper man.’ 

‘ So many a lady has thought before now, Mrs. Leigh, and 
well for him if they had not. But, indeed, I make no ac- 
count of omens. When God is ready for each man, then he 
must go ; and when can he go better .? ’ 

‘ But,’ said Mr. Leigh who entered, ‘ I have seen, and espe- 
cially when I w;*s in Italy, omen-s and prophecies before now 
beget their own fulfilment, by driving men into recklessness, 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


15 


and making them run headlong upon that very ruin, which as 
they fancied was running upon them.’ 

‘ And which,’ said Sir Richard, ‘ they might have avoided, 
if, instead of trusting in I know not what dumb and dark des- 
tiny, they had trusted in the living God, by faith in whom men 
may remove mountains, and quench the fire, and put to flight 
the armies of the alien. I, too, know, and know not how I 
know, that I shall never die in my bed.’ 

‘ God forefend ! ’ cried Mrs. Leigh. 

‘And why, fair Madam, if I die doing my duty to my God 
and my queen ? The thought never moves me : nay, to tell 
the truth, I pray often enough, that I may be spared the mise- 
ries of imbecile old age, and that end which the old Northmen 
rightly called “ a cow’s death ” rather than a man’s. But 
enough of this. Mr. Leigh, you have done wisely to-night. 
Poor Oxenham does not go on his voyage with a single eye. 
I have talked about him with Drake and Hawkins ; apd I guess 
why Mrs. Leigh touched him so home, when she told him that 
he had no child.’ ' 

‘Has he one, then, in the West Indies.?’ cried the good 
lady. 

‘ God knows ; and God grant we may not hear of shame 
and sorrow fallen upon an ancient and honorable house of De- 
von. My brother Stukely is woe enough to North Devon for 
this generation.’ 

‘ Poor braggadocio ! ’ said Mr. Leigh ; ‘ and yet not altoge- 
ther that too, for he can fight at least.’ 

‘ So can every mastiff* and boar, much more an Englishman. 
And now come hither to me, my adventurous godson, and 
don’t look in such doleful dumps. I hear you have broken all 
the sailor boys’ heads already.’ 

‘ Nearly all,’ said young Amyas, with due modesty. ‘But 
am I not to go to sea ? ’ 

“ All things in their time, my boy, and God forbid that either 
I or your worthy parents should keep you from that noble call- 
ing which is the safeguard of this England and her queen. But 
you do not wish to live and die the master of a trawler .? ’ 

‘ I should like to be a brave adventurer, like Mr. Oxenham.’ 

‘ God grant you become a braver man than he ! for asi 
think, to be bold against the enemy is common to the brutes ; 
but the prerogative of a man is to be bold against himself.’ 

How, Sir .? ’ 

‘ To conquer our own fancies, Amyas, and our own lusts, 
and our ambition in the sacred^ name of duty ; this it is to be 
truly brave, and truly strong ; for he who cannot rule himself, 


16 


HOW MR. OXENIIAM 


how can he rule his crew or his fortunes ? Come now, I will 
make you a promise. If you will bide quietly at home, and 
learn from your father and mother all which befits a gentleman 
and a Christian, as well as a seaman, the day shall come when 
you shall sail with Richard Grenvile himself, or with better men 
than he, on a nobler errand than gold-hunting on the Spanish 
Main.’ 

‘ Oh, my boy, my boy ! ’ said Mrs. Leigh, ‘ hear what the 
good Sir Richard promises you. Many an earl’s son would be^ 
glad to be in your place.’ 

‘ And many an earl’s son will be glad to be in his place a 
score years hence, if he will but learn what I know you two 
can teach him. And now, Amyas, my lad, I will tell you for 
a warning the history of that Sir Thomas Stukely of whom I 
spoke just now, and who was, as all men know, a gallant and 
courtly knight, of an ancient and worshipful family in Ilfra- 
combe, well practised in the wars, and well beloved at first by 
our incomparable queen, the friend of all true virtue, as I trust 
she will be of yours some day.; who wanted but one step to 
greatness, and that was this, that, in his hurry to rule all the 
world, he forgot to rule himself. And first he wasted his 
estate in show and luxury, always intending to be famous, and 
destroying his own fame all the while by his vain glory and haste. 
Then, to retrieve his losses, he hit upon the peopling of Florida, 
which thou and I will see done some day, by God’s blessing ; 
for I and some good friends of mine have an errand there as 
well as he. But he did not go about it as a loyal man, to ad- 
vance the honor of his queen, but his own honor only, dream- 
ing that he, too, should be a king.; and was not ashamed to tell 
her majesty, that he had rather be a sovereign of a molehill 
than the highest subject of an emperor.’ 

‘ They say,’ said Mr. Leigh, " that he told her plainly he. 
should be a prince before he died, and that she gave him one 
of her pretty quips in return.’ 

‘ I don’t know that her majesty had the best of it. A fool is 
many times too strong for a wise man, by virtue of his thick 
hide. For when she said that she hoped she should hear from 
him in his new principality, ‘ Yes, sooth,’ says he graciously 
enough. ‘ And in what style ? ’ asks she. ‘ To our dear sis- 
ter,’ says Stukely : to which her clemency had nothing to re- 
ply, but turned away, as Mr. Burleigh told me, laughing;.’ 

‘ Alas for him ! ’ said gentle Mrs. Leigh. ‘ Such self-conceit 
— and Heaven knows we have the root of it in ourselves also — 
is the very daughter of self-will, and of that loud crying out 


SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 


17 


about I, and me, and mine, which is the very bird-call for all 
devils, and the broad road which leads to death.’ 

‘ It will lead him to his,’ said Sir Richard ; ‘ God grant it be 
not upon Tower-hill ! for since that Florida plot, and after that 
his hopes of Irish preferment came to nought, he who could 
not help himself by fair means has taken to foul ones, and gone 
over to Italy to the Pope, whose infallibility has not been proof 
against Stukely’s wit; for he was soon his Holiness’ closet 
counsellor, and, they say, his bosom friend ; and made him give 
credit to his boasts that, with three thousand soldiers, he would 
beat the English out of Ireland, and make the Pope’s son king 
of it.’ 

‘ Ay, but,’ said Mr. Leigh, ‘ I suppose the Italians have the 
same fetch now as they had when I was there, to explain such 
ugly cases ; namely, that the Pope is infallible only in doctrine, 
and quoad Pope ; while quoad hominem, he is even as others, or 
indeed, in general, a deal worse ; so that the office, and not the 
man, may be glorified thereby. But where is Stukely now ? ’ 

‘ At Rome, when last I heard of him, ruffling it up and down 
the Vatican as Baron Ross, Viscount Murrough, Earl Wexford, 
Marquis Leinster, and a title or two more, which have cost the 
Pope little, seeing that they never were his to give ; and plot- 
ting, they say, some hair-brained expedition against Ireland 
by the help of the Spanish king, which must end in nothing 
but his shame and ruin. And now, my sweet hosts, I must 
call for serving-boy and lantern, and home to my bed in 
Bideford.’ 

And so Amyas Leigh went back to school, and Mr. Oxenham 
went his way to Plymouth again, and sailed for the Spanish 
Main. 


2 * 


I 


18 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


CHAPTER II. 

HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME. 

* Si taceant homines, facient te sidera notum, 

Sol nescit comitis immemor esse sui.’ 

Old ^Epigram on Drake. 

• Five years* are past and gone. It is nine of the clock on 
a still, bright November morning : but the bells of Bideford 
church are still ringing for the dail/ service two hours after the 
usual time ; and instead of going soberly, according to wont, 
cannot help breaking forth every five minutes into a jocund 
peal, and tumbling head over heels in ecstasies of joy. Bide- 
ford streets are a very flower garden of all the colors, swarm- 
ing with seamen and burghers, and burghers’ wives and daugh- 
ters, all in their holiday attire. Garlands are hung across the 
streets, and tapestries from every window. The ships in the 
pool are drest in all their flags, and give tumultuous vent to 
their feelings by peals of ordnance of every size. Every stable 
is crammed with horses ; and Sir Richard Grenvile’s house is 
like a very tavern, with eating, and drinking, and unsaddling, 
and running to and fro of grooms and serving-men. Along the 
little churchyard, packed full with women, streams all the 
gentle blood of North Devon, — tall and stately men, and fair 
ladies, worthy of the days when the gentry of England were 
by due right the leaders of the people, by personal prowess 
and beauty, as well as by intellect and education. And first, 
there is my Lady Countess of Bath, whorn Sir Richard Grenvile 
is escorting, cap in hand (for her good Earl Bourchier is in 
London with the queen) ; and there are Bassets from beautiful 
Umbeileigh, and Carys from more beautiful Clovelly, and For- 
tescues of Wear, and Fortescues of Buckland, and Fortescues 
from all quarters, and Coles from Slade, and Stukelys from 
Afitoiij and St. Legers from Annery, and Coffins from Port- 
ledge, and even Coplestones from Eggesford, thirty miles' 
away : and last, but not least (for almost all stop to give them 
place). Sir John Chichester of Ralegh, followed in single file, 
after the good old patriarchal fashion, by his eight daughters, 


THE FIRST TIME. 


19 


and three of his five famous sons (one, to avenge his murdered 
brother, is fighting valiantly in Ireland, hereafter to rule there 
wisely also, as Lord-Deputy and Baron of Belfast) ; and he 
meets at the gate his cousin of Arlington, and behind him a 
train of four daughters and nineteen sons, the last of whom 
has not yet passed the Town-hall, while the first is at the Lych- 
gate, who, laughing, make way for the elder though shorter 
branch of that most fruitful tree ; and so on into the church, 
where all are placed according to their degrees, or at least as 
near as may be, not without a few sour looks, and shovings, 
and whisperings, from the high-born matron and another ; till 
the churchwardens and sidesmen, who never had before so 
goodly a company to arrange, have bustled themselves hot, and 
red, and frantic, and end by imploring abjectly the help of the 
great Sir Richard himself to tell them who everybody is, and 
which is the elder branch, and which is the younger, and who 
carries eight quarterings in their arms, and who only four, and 
so prevent their setting at deadly feud half the fine ladies of 
North Devon ; for the old men are all safe packed away in the 
corporation pews, and the young ones care only to get a place 
whence they may eye the ladies. And at last there is a silence, 
and a looking toward the door, and then distant music, flutes 
and hautboys, drums and trumpets, which come braying, and 
screaming, and thundering merrily up to the very church doors, 
and then cease ; and the churchwardens and sidesmen bustle 
down to the entrance, rods in hand, and there is a general whis- 
per and rustle, not without glad tears and blessings from many a 
woman, and fi’om some men also, as the wonder of the day 
enters, and the rector begins, not the morning service, but the 
good old thanksgiving after a victory at sea. 

And what is it which has thus sent old Bideford wild with 
that ‘ godly joy and pious mirth,’ of which we now only retain 
traditions in our translation of the psalms ? -Why are all eyes 
fixed, with greedy admiration on those four weather-beaten 
mariners, decked out with knots and ribbons by loving hands ; 
and yet more on that gigantic figure who walks before them, a 
beardless boy, and yet with the frame and stature of a Hercu- 
les, towering, like Saul of old, a head and shoulders above 
all the congregation, with his golden locks flowing down over 
his shoulders ? And why, as the five go instinctively up to 
the altar, and there fall on their knees before the rails, are all 
eyes turned to the pew, where Mrs. Leigh of Burrough has hid 
her face between her hands, and her hood rustles and shakes to 
her joyful sobs ? Because there was fellow-feeling of old in 
merry England, in country and in town ; and these are Devon- 


V 


20 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 

men, and men of Bideford, whose names are Amyas Leigh of 
Burrough, John Staveley, Michael Heard, and Jonas Marshall 
of Bideford, and Thomas Braund of Clovelly; and they, the 
first of all English mariners, have sailed round the world with 
Francis Drake, and are come hither to give God thanks. 

It is a long story. To explain how it happened we must go 
back for a page or two, almost to the point from whence we 
started in the last chapter. 

For somewhat more than a twelvemonth after Mr. Oxenham’s 
departure, young Amyas had gone on quietly enough, accord- 
ing to promise, with the exception of certain occasional out- 
bursts of fierceness common to all young male animals, and 
especially to boys of any strength of character. His scholar- 
ship, indeed, progressed no better than before ; but his home 
education went on healthily enough ; and he was fast becoming, 
young as he was, a right good archer, and rider, and swords- 
man (after the old school of buckler practice), when his father, 
having gone down on business to the Exeter Assizes, caught 
(as was too common in those days) the gaol-fever from the 
prisoners ; sickened in the very court; and died within a week. 

And now Mrs. Leigh was left to God and her own soul, with 
this young lion-cub in leash, to tame and train for this life and 
the life to come. She had loved her husband fervently and 
holily. He had been often peevish, often melancholy ; for he 
was a disappointed man, with an estate impoverished by his 
father’s folly, and his own youthful ambition, which had led 
him up to Court, and made him waste his heart and his purse 
in following a vain shadow. He was one of those mien, more- , 
over, who possess almost every gift except the gift of the 
power to use them ; and though a scholar, a courtier, and a . 
soldier, he had found himself, when he was past forty, without 
settled employment or aim in life, by reason of a certain shy- 
ness, pride, or delicate honor (call it which you will), which 
had always kept him from playing a winning game in that very 
world after whose prizes he hankered to the last, and on which 
he revenged himself by continual grumbling. At last, by his 
good luck, he met with a fair young Miss Foljambe, of Derby- 
shire, then about Queen Elizabeth’s court, who was as tired as 
he of the sins of the world, though she had seen less of them ; 
and the two contrived to please each other so well, that though 
the queen grumbled a little, as usual, at the lady for marrying, 
and at the gentleman for adoring any one but her royal self, 
they got leave to vanish from the little Babylon at Whitehall, 
and settle in peace at Burrough. In her he found a treasure, 
and he knew what he had found. 


THE FIRST TIME. 


21 


Mrs. Leigh was, and had been from her youth, one of those 
noble old English churchwomen, without superstition, and 
without severity, who are among the fairest features of that 
heroic time. There was a certain melancholy about her, 
nevertheless ; for the recollections of her childhood carried her 
back to times when it was an awful thing to be a Protestant. 
She could remember among them, five-and-twenty years ago, 
the burning of poor blind Joan VVaste, at Derby, and of Mis- 
tress Joyce Lewis, too, like herself, a lady born ; and some- 
times, even now, in her nightly dreams, rang in her ears her 
mother’s bitter cries to God, either to spare her that fiery tor- 
ment, or to give her strength to bear it, as she whom she loved 
had borne it before her. For her mother, who was of a good 
family in Yorkshire, had been one of Queen Catherine’s bed- 
chamber women, and the bosom friend and disciple of Anne 
Askew. And she had sat in Smithfield, with blood curdled by 
horror, to see the hapless court beauty, a month before the 
paragon of Henry’s court, carried in a chair (so crippled was 
she by the rack) to her fiery doom at the stake, beside her fel- 
low-courtier, Mr. Lascelles, while the very heavens seemed to 
the shuddering mob* around to speak their wrath and grief in 
solemn thunder peals, and heavy drops which hissed upon the 
crackling pile. 

Therefore a sadness hung upon her all her life, and deepened 
in the days of Queen Mary, when, as a notorious Protestant 
and heretic, she had had to hide for her life among the hills 
and caverns of the Peak, and was only saved by the love which 
her husband’s tenants bore her, and by his bold declaration that, 
good Catholic as he was, he would run through the body any 
constable, justice, or priest, yea, bishop, or cardinal, who dared 
to serve the Queen’s warrant upon his wife. 

So she escaped ; but, as I said, a sadness hung upon her all 
her life ; and the skirt of that dark mantle fell upon the young 
girl who had been the partner of her wanderings and hidings 
among the lonely hills ; and who, after she was married, gave 
herself utterly up to God. 

And yet in giving herself to God, Mrs. Leigh gave herself to 
her husband, her children, and the poor of Northam town, and 
was none the less welcome to the Grenviles, and Fortescues, 
and Chichesters, and all the gentle families round, who honored 
her husband’s talents, and enjoyed his wit. She accustomed 
herself to austerities, which often called forth the kindly rebukes 
of her husband ; and yet she did so without one superstitious 
thought of appeasing the fancied wrath of God, or of giving 
him pleasure (base thought) by any pain of hers ; for her spirit 


22 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


had been trained in the freest and loftiest doctrines of Luther’s 
school ; and that little mystic ‘ Alt-Deutsch Theologie.,’ (to 
which the great Reformer said that he owed more than to any 
book, save the Bible, and St. Augustine,) was her counsellor 
and comforter by day and night. 

And now, at little past forty, she was left a widow ; lovely 
still in face and figure ; and still more lovely from the divine 
calm which brooded, like the dove of peace and the Holy Spirit 
of God (which indeed it was) over' every look, and word, and 
gesture ; a sweetness which had been ripened by storm, as well 
as by sunshine ; which this world had not given, and could not 
take away. No wonder that Sir Richard and Lady Grenvile 
loved her ; no wonder that her children worshipped her ; no 
wonder that the young Amyas, when the first burst of grief was 
over, and he knew again where he stood, felt that a new life had 
begun for him ; that his mother was no more to think and act 
for him only, but that he must think and act for his mother. 
And so it was, that on the very day after his father’s funeral, 
when school-hours were over, instead of coming straight home, 
he walked boldly into Sir Richard Grenvile’s house, and asked 
to see his godfather. 

‘ You must be my father now. Sir,’ said he, firmly. 

And Sir Richard looked at the boy’s broad strong face, and 
swore a great and holy oath, like Glasgerion’s, ‘ by oak, and 
ash, and thorn,’ that he would be a father to him, and a brother 
to his mother, for Christ’s sake. And Lady Grenvile took the 
boy by the hand, and walked home with him to Burrough ; and 
there the two fair women fell on each other’s necks and wept 
together ; the one for the loss which had been, the other as by 
a prophetic instinct, for the like loss which was to come to her 
also. For the sweet St. Leger knew well that her husband’s 
fiery spirit would never leave his body on a peaceful bed ; but 
that death (as he prayed almost nightly that it might) would 
find him sword in hand, upon the field of duty and of fame. 
And there those two vowed everlasting sisterhood, and kept 
their vow ; and after that all things went on at Burrough as be- 
fore ; and Amyas rode and shot, and boxed, and wandered on 
the quay at Sir Richard’s side ; for Mrs. Leigh was too wise a 
woman to alter one tittle of the training which her husband had 
thought best for his younger boy. It was enough that her 
elder son had of his own accord taken to that form of life in 
which she in her secret heart would fain have moulded both 
her children. For Frank, God’s wedding gift to that pure love 
of hers, had won himself honor at home and abroad ; first at 
the school at Bideford ; then at Exeter College, where he had 


THE FIRST TIME. 


23 


become a friend of Sir Philip Sidney’s, and many another 
young man of rank and promise ; and next, in the summer of 
1572, on his way to the University of Heidelberg, he had gone 
to Paris, with (luckily for him) letters of recommendation to 
VValsingham, at the English Embassy: by which letters he 
not only fell in a second time with Philip Sidney, but saved his 
own life (as Sidney did his) in the Massacre of Saint Bartho- 
lomew’s Day. At Heidelberg he had stayed two years, win- 
ning fresh honor from all who knew him, and resisting all Sid- 
ney’s entreaties to follow him into Italy. For, scorning to be 
a burden to his parents, he had become at Heidelberg tutor to 
two young German princes, whom, after living with them at 
their father’s house fbr a year or more, he at last, to his own 
great delight, took with him down to Padua, ‘to perfect them,’ 
as he wrote home, ‘ according to his insufficiency, in all prince- 
ly studies.’ Sidney was now returned to England ; but Frank 
found friends enough without him, such letters of recommenda- 
tion and diplomas did he carry from I know not how many 
princes, magnificoes, and learned doctors, who had fallen in love 
with the learning, modesty, and virtue of the fair young English- 
man. And ere Frank returned to Germany, he had satiated 
his soul with all the wonders of that wondrous land. He 
had talked over the art of sonnetering with Tasso, the art of 
history with Sarpi ; he had listened between awe and incredu- 
lity to the daring theories of Galileo; he had taken his pupils 
to Venice, that their portraits might be painted by Paulo Vero- 
nese ; he had seen the palaces of Palladio and the Merchant 
Princes on the Rialto, and the Argosies of Ragusa, and all the 
wonders of that meeting-point of east and west ; he had 
watched Tintoretto’s mighty hand ‘hurling tempestuous glories 
o’er the scene;’ and even, by dint of private intercession in 
high places, had been admitted to that sacred room, where, 
with long silver beard and undimmed eye, amid a pantheon of 
his own creations, the ancient Titian, patriarch of art, still lin- 
gered upon earth, and told old tales of the Bellinis, and 
Raffaelle, and Michael Angelo, and the building of St. Peter’s, 
and the Fire at Venice, and the Sack of Rome, and of kings 
and warriors, statesmen and poets, long since gone to their 
account, and showed the sacred brush which Francis the First 
had stooped to pick up for him. And (license forbidden to 
Sidney by his friend Languet) he had been to Rome, and seen 
(much to the scandal of good Protestants at home) that ‘ right 
good fellow,’ as Sidney calls him, who had not yet eaten him- 
self to death, the Pope for the time being. And he had seen 
the frescoes of the Vatican, and heard Palestrina preside as 


24 


now AMYAS CAME HOME 


chapel-master over the performance of his own music beneath 
the dome of St. Peter’s, and fallen half in love with those lus- 
cious strains, till he was awakened from his dream by the 
recollection that beneath the same dome had gone up thanks- 
givings to the God of heaven, for those blood-stained streets, and 
shrieking women, and heaps of insulted corpses, which he had 
beheld in Paris on the night of St. Bartholomew. At last a 
few months before his father died, he had taken back his pupils 
to their home in Germany, from whence he was dismissed, as 
he wrote, with rich gifts ; and then Mrs. Leigh’s heart beat high, 
at the thought that the wanderer would return : but, alas ! with- 
in a month after his father’s death, came a long letter from 
Frank, describing the Alps, and the valleys of the Waldenses 
(with whose Barbes he had had much talk about the late horrible 
persecutions), and setting forth how at Padua he had made the 
acquaintance of that illustrious scholar and light of the age, 
Stephanus Parmenius (commonly called from his native place, 
Budasus), who had visited Geneva with him, and heard the 
disputations of their most learned doctors, which both he and 
Buda3us disliked for their hard judgments both of God and 
man, as much as they admired them for their subtlety, being 
themselves, as became Italian students, Platonists of the 
school of Ficinus and Picus Mirandolensis. So wrote master 
Frank, in a long sententious letter, full of Latin quotations: 
but the letter never reached the eyes of him for whose delight 
it had been penned ; and the widow had to weep over it alone, 
and to weep more bitterly than ever at the conclusion, in 
which, with many excuses, Frank said that he had, at the 
special entreaty of the said Budseus, set out with him down the 
Danube stream to Buda, that he might, before finishing his 
travels, make experience of that learning for which the Hun- 
garians were famous throughout Europe. And after that, 
though he wrote again and again to the father whom he fancied 
living, no letter in return reached him from home for nearly 
two years; till, fearing some mishap, he hurried back to Eng- 
land, to find his mother a widow, and his brother Amyas gone 
to the South Seas with Captain Drake of Plymouth. And yet 
even then, after years of absence, he was not allowed to re- 
main at home. For Sir Richard, to whom idleness was a thing 
horrible and unrightevOus, would have him up and doing again 
before six months were over, and sent him off to court to Lord 
Hunsdon. 

There, being as delicately beautiful, as his brother was huge 
and strong, ho had speedily, by Carew’s interest and that 
of Sidney and his Uncle Leicester, found entrance into some 


THE FIRST TIME. 


25 


office in the Queen’s household ; and he was now basking in 
the full sunshine of Court favor, and fair ladies’ eyes, and all 
the chivalries and Euphuisms of Gloriana’s fairy land, and 
the fast friendship of that bright meteor, Sidney, who had 
returned with honor in 1577, from the delicate mission on 
behalf of the German and Belgian Protestants, on which he 
had been sent to the Court of Vienna, under color of condol- 
ing with the new Emperor Rodolph, on his father’s death. 
Frank found him, when he himself came to Court in 1579, as 
lovely and loving as ever ; and at the early age of twenty- 
five, acknowledged as one of the most remarkable men of 
Europe, the patron of all men of letters, the counsellor of 
warriors and statesmen, and the confidant and - advocate of 
William of Orange, Languet, Plessis du Mornay, and all the 
Protestant leaders on the Continent ; and found, moreover, that 
the son of the poor Devon squire was as welcome as ever to 
the friendship of nature’s and fortune’s most favored, yet most 
unspoilt, minion. 

Poor Mrs. Leigh, as one who had long since learned to have 
no'self, and to live not only for her children, but in them, sub- 
mitted without a murmur, and only said, smiling, to her stern 
friend : ‘ You took away my mastiff-pup, and now you must 
needs have my fair greyhound also.’ 

‘ Would you have your fair greyhound, dear lady, grow up 
a tall and true Cotswold dog, that can pull down a stag of ten, 
or one of those smooth-skinned poppets which the Florence 
ladies lead about with a ring of bells round its neck, and a 
flannel farthingale over its loins ? ’ 

Mrs. Leigh submitted ; and was rewarded after a few months 
by a letter sent through Sir Richard, from none other than 
Gloriana herself, in which she thanked her for ‘ the loan of 
that most delicate and flawless crystal, the soul of her excel- 
lent son,’ with more praises of him than I have room to insert, 
and finished by exalting the poor mother above the famed 
Cornelia; ‘for those sons, whom she called her jewels, she 
only showed, yet kept them to herself : but you, madam, hav- 
ing two as precious, I doubt not, as were ever that Roman 
dame’s, have, beyond her courage, lent them both to your 
country and to your queen, who therein holds herself indebted 
to you for that which, if God give her grace, she will repay 
as becomes both her and you.’ Which epistle the sweet mother 
bedewed with holy tears, and laid by in the cedar-box which 
held her household gods, by the side of Frank’s innumerable 
diplomas and letters of recommendation, the Latin whereof she 
was always spelling over (although she understood not a word 
3 


26 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


of it), in hopes of finding here and there that precious excel- 
lentissimus Noster Franciscus Leighius Anglus^ wliich was all 
in all to the mother’s heart. 

But why did Amyas go the South Seas ? Amyas went 
to the South Seas for two causes, each of which has before 
now sent many a lad to far worse places : first, because of an 
old schoolmaster; secondly, because of a young beauty. I 
will take them in order, and explain. 

Vindex Brimblecombe, whilom servitor of Exeter College, 
Oxford (commonly called Sir Vindex, after the fashion of the 
times), was, in those days, master of the grammar-school of 
Bideford. He was, at root,^a godly and kind-hearted pedant 
enough : but, like most schoolmasters in the old flogging days, 
had his heart pretty well hardened by long baneful license to 
inflict pain at will on those weaker than himself ; a power 
healthful enough for the victim (for doubtless flogging is the best 
of all punishments, being not only the shortest, but also a mere 
bodily and animal, and not, like most of our new-fangled 
‘humane’ punishments, a spiritual and fiendish torture), but 
for the executioner pretty certain to eradicate from all but the 
noblest spirits, every trace of chivalry and tenderness for the 
weak, as well, often, as all self-control and command of tem- 
per. Be that as it may, old Sir Vindex had heart enough to 
feel that it was now his duty to take especial care of the 
fatherless boy to whom he tried to teach his qui^ quce^ quod : 
but the only outcome of that new sense of responsibility, was 
a rapid increase in the number of floggings, which rose from 
about two a week, to one per diem, not without consequences 
to the pedagogue himself. 

For all this while, Amyas had never for a moment lost sight 
of his darling desire for a sea life ; and when he could not 
wander on the quay and stare at the shipping, or go down to 
the pebble-ridge at Northam, and there sit devouring with 
hungry eyes the great expanse of ocean, which seemed to woo 
him outward into boundless space, he used to console himself 
in school-hours by drawing ships, and imaginary charts upon 
his slate, instead of minding his ‘ humanities.’ 

Now it befcl upon an afternoon, that he was very busy at a 
map, or bird’s eye view of an island, whereon was a great 
castle, and at the gate thereof a dragon, terrible to see ; while 
in the foreground came that which was meant for a gallant 
ship, with a great flag aloft, but which, by reason of the forest 
of lances with which it was crowded, looked much more like a 
porcupine carrying a sign-post ; and at the roots of those 
lances many little round o’s, whereby were signified the heads 


THE FIRST TIME. 


27 


of Amyas and his school-fellows, who were about to slay that 
dragon, and rescue the beautiful princess who dwelt in that 
enchanted tower. ' To behold which marvel of art, all the 
other boys at the same desk must needs club their heads to- 
gether, and with the more security, because Sir Vindex, as was 
liis custom after dinner, was lying back in his chair, and slept 
the sleep of the just. 

But when Amyas, by special instigation of the evil spirit 
who haunts successful artists, proceeded further to introduce, 
heedless of perspective, a rock, on which stood the lively por- 
traiture of Sir Vindex — nose, spectacles, gown, and all ; and 
in his hand a brandished rod, while out of his mouth a label 
shrieked after the runaways, ‘You come back! ’ while a simi- 
lar label replied from the gallant bark, ‘ Good-bye, Master ! ’ 
the shoving and tittering rose to such a pitch, that Cerberus 
awoke, and demanded sternly what the noise was about. To 
which, of course, there was no answer. 

‘ You, of course, Leigh ! Come up, Sir, and show me your 
- exercitation.’ 

Now of Amyas’s exercitation not a word was written ; and, 
moreover, he was in the very article of putting the last 
touches to Mr. Brimblecombe’s portrait. Whereon, to the 
astonishment of all hearers, he made answer, — 

‘ All in good time. Sir 1 ’ and went on drawing. 

‘ In good time. Sir! Insolent, veni et vapula ! * 

But Amyas went on drawing. 

‘ Come hither, sirrah, or I’ll flay you alive ! ’ 

‘ Wait a bit ! ’ answered Amyas. 

The old gentleman jumped up, ferula in hand, and darted 
across the school, and saw himself upon the fatal slate. 

‘Pro/i Jiagitium ! what have we here, villain } ’ and clutch- 
ing at his victim, he raised the cane. Whereupon, with a 
serene and cheerful countenance, up rose the mighty form of 
Amyas Leigh, a head and shoulders above his tormentor, and 
that slate descended on the bald coxcomb of Sir Vindex Brim- 
blecombe, with so shrewd a blow, that slate and pate cracked at 
the same instant, and the poor pedagogue dropped to the floor, 
and lay for dead. 

After which Amyas arose, and walked out of the school, 
and so quietly home ; and having taken counsel with himself, 
went to his mother, and said, ‘ Please, mother, I’ve broken 
schoolmaster’s head.’ 

‘ Broken his head, thou wicked boy ! ’ shrieked the poor 
widow ; ‘ what didst do that for .? ’ 


28 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


‘ I can’t tell,’ said Amyas, penitently; ‘I couldn’t help it. 

It looked so smooth, and bald, and round, and — you know ? ’ 

‘I know? Oh, wicked boy! thou hast 'given place to the 
devil; and now, perhaps, thou hast killed him.’ 

‘ Killed the devil ? ’ asked Amyas, hopefully, but doubt- 
fully. 

‘ No, killed the schoolmaster, sirrah ! Is he dead ? ’ 

‘ I don’t think he’s dead ; his coxcomb sounded too hard for 
that. But had not I better go and tell Sir Richard ? ’ 

The poor mother could hardly help laughing, in spite of her 
terror, at Amyas’s perfect coolness (which was not in the least 
meant for insolence), and being at her wits’ end, sent him as 
usual to his godfather. 

Amyas rehearsed his story again, with pretty nearly the 
same exclamations, to which he gave pretty nearly the same 
answers ; and then — 

‘ What was he going to do to you, then, sirrah ? ’ 

‘ Flog me, because I could not write my exercise, and so 
drew a picture of him instead.’ 

‘ What ! art afraid of being flogged ? ’ 

‘ Not a bit ; besides. I’m too much accustomed to it ; but I 
was busy, and he was in such a desperate hurry; and, oh, 
Sir, if you had but seen his bald head, you would have broken 
it yourself! ’ 

Now Sir Richard had, twenty years ago, in like place, and 
very much in like manner, broken the head of Vindex Brim- * 
blecombe’s father, schoolmaster in his day ; and therefore had 
a precedent to direct him ; and he answered, — 

‘ Amyas, sirrah ! those who cannot obey, will never be fit 
to rule. If thou canst not keep discipline now, thou wilt never 
make a company or a crew keep it when thou art grown. 
Dost mind that, sirrah ? ’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Amyas. 

‘ Then go back to school this moment, Sir, and be flog- 
ged.’ 

‘ Very well,’ said Amyas, considering that he had got off 
very cheaply ; while Sir Richard, as soon as he was out of the 
room, lay back in his chair, and laughed till he cried again. 

So Amyas went back, and said that he was come to be 
flogged ; whereon the old schoolmaster, whose pate had been 
plastered meanwhile, wept tears of joy over the returning 
prodigal, and then gave him such a switching as he did not 
forget for eight-and-forty hours. 

But that evening Sir Richard sent for old Vindex, who 


THE FIRST TIME. 


29 


entered trembling, cap in hand ; and having primed him with 
_ a cup of sack, said, — 

‘ Well, Mr. Schoolmaster ! My godson has been somewhat 
too much for you to-day. There are a couple of nobles to 
pay the doctor.’ 

‘ Oh, Sir Eichard, gratias tihi et Domino ! but the boy hits 
shrewdly hard. Nevertheless I have repaid him in inverse 
kind, and set him an imposition, to learn me one of Phsedrus 
his fables. Sir Eichard, if you do not think it too much.’ 

‘ Which then ? The one about the man who brought up a 
lion’s cub, and was eaten by him in play at last } ’ 

‘ Ah, Sir Eichard ! you have always a merry wit. But in- 
deed, the boy is a brave boy, and a quick boy, Sir Eichard, 
but more forgetful than Lethe ; and — sapienti loquor — it were 
well if he were away, for I shall never see him again without 
my head aching. Moreover, he put my son Jack upon the fire 
last Wednesday, as you would put a foot-ball, though he is a 
year older, your Worship, because, he said, he looked so like a 
roasting pig, Sir Eichard.’ 

‘ Alas, poor Jack ! ’ 

‘ And what’s more, your Worship, he is pngnax, hellicosus, 
gladiator, 0. fire-eater and swashbuckler, beyond all Christian 
measure ; a very sucking Entellus, Sir Eichard, and will do to 
• death some of her majesty’s lieges ere long, if he be not wisely 
curbed. It was but a month agone that he bemoaned himself^, 
I hear, as Alexander did, because there were no more worlds 
to conquer, saying that it was a pity he was so strong, for now 
he had thrashed all the Bideford lads, he had no sport left ; and 
so, as my Jack tells me, last Tuesday week he fell upon a 
young man of Barnstaple, Sir Eichard, a hosier’s man. Sir, and 
phheius (which I consider unfit for one of his blood), and 
moreover, a man full grown, and as big as either of us (Vindex 
stood five feet four in his high-heeled shoes), and smote him 
clean over the quay into the mud, because he said that there 
was a prettier maid in Barnstaple (your Worship will forgive 
my speaking of such toys, to which my fidelity compels me) 
than ever Bideford could show ; and then offered to do the 
same to any man who dare say that Mistress Eose Salterne, 
his Worship the Mayor’s daughter, was not the fairest lass in 
all Devon.’ 

‘ Eh? Say that over again, my good Sir,’ quoth Sir Eich- 
ard, who had thus arrived, as we have seen, to the second 
count of the indictment. 

‘ I say, good . Sir, whence dost thou hear all these pretty 
stories ? ’ 


3 * 


30 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


‘ My son Jack, Sir Richard, riiy son Jack, ingcnui vultus 
puer.'^ 

‘ But not, it seems, ingenui pudoris. Tell thee what, Mr. 
Schoolmaster, no wonder if thy son gets put on the fire, if thou 
employ him as a tale-bearer. But that is the way of all peda- 
gogues and their sons, by which they train their lads up eaves- 
droppers and favor-curriers, and prepare them, — sirrah, do 
you hear ? — for a much more lasting and hotter fire than 
that which has scorched thy son Jack’s nether-tackle. Do you 
mark me, Sir ? ’ 

The poor pedagogue, thus cunningly caught in his own trap, 
stood trenibling before his patron, who, as hereditary head of 
the Bridge-trust, which endowed the school and the rest of the 
Bideford charities, could, by a turn of his finger, sweep him 
forth with the besom of destruction ; and he gasped with terror 
as Sir Richard went on, — 

‘ Therefore, mind you. Sir Schoolmaster, unless you shall 
promise me never to hint word of what has passed between us 
two, and that neither you nor yours shall henceforth carry tales 
of my godson, or speak his name within a day’s march of Mis- 
tress Salterne’s, look to it. Sir, if I do not — ’ 

What was to be done in default was not spoken ; for down 
went poor old Vindex on his knees : — 

‘ Oh, Sir Richard ! Excellentissime^ immd prmcelsissime- 
Domine et Senator^ I promise ! O Sir, Miles et Eques of the 
Garter, Bath, and Golden Fleece, consider your dignities, and 
my old age — and my great family, nine children — oh. Sir 
Richard, and eight of them girls ! — Do eagles war with mice ? 
says the ancient.’ 

‘ Thy large family, eh > How old is that fat-witted son of 
thine ? ’ 

‘ Sixteen, Sir Richard ; but that is not his fault, indeed.’ 

‘ Nay, I suppose he would still be sucking his thumb if he 
dared — get up man, — get up, and seat yourself.’ 

‘ Heaven forbid ! ’ murmured poor Vindex, with deep hu- 
mility. 

‘ Why is not the rogue at Oxford, with a murrain on him, 
instead of lurching about here carrying tales, and ogling the 
maidens ? ’ 

* 1 had hoped, Sir Richard — and therefore I said it was not 
his fault — but there was never a servitorship at Exeter open.’ 

‘ Go to, man — go to 1 I will speak to my brethren of the 
trust, and to Oxford he shall go this autumn, or else to Exeter 
gaol, for a strong rogue, ^nd a masterless man. Do you 
hear ’ 


THE FIRST TIME. 


31 


‘ Hear ? — oh, Sir, yes ! — and return thanks. Jack shall go. 
Sir Richard, doubt it not — I were mad else ; and Sir Richard, 
may I go too ? ’ 

And therewith .Vindex vanished, and Sir Richard enjoyed a 
second mighty laugh, which brought in Lady Grenvile, who 
possibly had overheard the whole ; for the first words she said 
were, — 

‘ I think, my sweet life, we had better go up to Bur- 
rough.’ 

So to Burrough they went ; and after much talk, and many 
tears, matters were so concluded that Amyas Leigh found him- 
self riding joyfully towards Plymouth, by the side of Sir Rich- 
ard, and being handed over to Captain Drake, vanished for 
three years from the good town of Bideford. 

And now he is returned in triumph, and the observed of all 
observers ; and looks round and round, and sees all faces whom 
he expects, except one ; and that the one which he had rather 
see than his mother’s ? He is not quite sure. Shame on 
himself! 

And now the prayers being ended, the Rector ascends the 
■pulpit, and begins his sermon on the text : — 

‘ The heaven and the heaven of heavens are the Lord’s ; 
the whole earth ha,th he given to the children of men ; ’ dedu- 
cing therefrom craftily, to the exceeding pleasure of his hearers, 
the iniquity of the Spaniards in dispossessing the Indians, and 
in arrogating to themselves the sovereignty of the tropic seas ; 
the vanity of the Pope of Rome in pretending to bestow on 
them the new countries of America ; and the justice, valor, 
and glory of Mr. Drake and his expedition, as testified by 
God’s miraculous protection of him and his, both in the Straits 
of Magellan, and in his battle with the Galloon; and last, but 
not least, upon the rock by Celebes, when the Pelican lay for 
hours firmly fixed, and was floated off unhurt, as it were by 
miracle, by a sudden shift of wind. 

Ay, smile, reader^ if you will ; and, perhaps, there was 
matter for a smile in that honest sermon, interlarded as it was 
with scraps of Greek and Hebrew, which no one understood, 
but every one expected as their right (for a preacher was 
nothing then who could not prove himself ‘ a good Latiner ’) ; 
and graced, moreover, by a somewhat pedantic and lengthy 
refutation from Scripture of Dan Plorace’s cockney horror of 
the sea — 

‘ Illi robur et ses triplex,’ &c. 

and his infidel and ungodly slander against the ‘ impias rates,’ 
and their crews. 


32 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


Smile, if you will : but those were clays (and there were 
never less superstitious ones) in which Englishmen believed in 
the living God, and were not ashamed to acknowledge, as a 
matter of couise. His help and providence, and calling, in the 
matters of daily life, which we now in our covert Atheism term 
‘ secular and carnal ; ’ and when, the sermon ended, the Com- 
munion Service had begun, and the bread and wine were 
given to those five mariners, every gallant gentleman who stood 
near them (for the press would not allow of more) knelt and 
received the elements with them as a thing of course, and then 
rose to join with heart and voice not merely in the Gloria in 
Excelsis, but in the Te Deum, which was the closing act of all. 
And no sooner had the clerk given out the first verse of that 
great hymn, than it was taken up by five hundred voices within 
the church, in bass and tenor, treble and alto (for every one 
could sing in those days, and the west country folk, as now, 
were fuller than any of music), the chant was caught up by 
the crowd outside, and rang away over roof and river, up to 
the woods of Annery, and down to the marshes of the Taw, in 
wave on wave of harmony. And as it died away, the shipping 
in the river made answer with their thunder, and the crowd 
streamed out again toward the Bridge Head, whither Sir Rich- 
ard (Trenvile, and Sir John Chichester, and Mr. Salterne, the 
Mayor, led the five heroes of the day to await the pageant 
which had been prepared in honor of them. And as they 
went by, there were few in the crowd who did not press for- 
ward to shake them by the hand, and not only them, but their 
parents and kinsfolk who walked behind, till Mrs. Leigh, her 
stately joy quite broken down at last, could only answer be- 
tween her sobs, ‘ Go along, good people — God-a-mercy, go 
along — and God send you all such sons ! ’ 

‘ God give me back mine ! ’ cried an old *red-cloaked dame 
in the crowd ; and then, struck by some hidden impulse, she 
sprang forward, and catching hold of young Amyas’s sleeve — 
‘ Kind Sir ! dear Sir ! For Christ his sdce answer a poor old 
widow woman ! ’ 

‘ What is it, dame } ’ quoth Amyas, gently enough. 

‘ Did you see my son to the Indies > — my son Salvation ? ’ 

‘ Salvation ’ replied he with the air of one who recollected 
the name. 

‘ Yes, sure. Salvation Yeo, of Clovelly. A tall man and 
black, and sweareth awfully in his talk, the Lord forgive him !’ 

Amyas recollected now. It was the name of the sailor who 
had given him the wondrous horn five years ago. 

‘ My good dame,’ said he, ‘ the Indies are a very large place, 


THE FIRST TIME. 


33 


and your son may be safe and •sound enough there, without my 
having seen him. I knew one Salvation Yeo. But he must 

have come with . By-the-bye, godfather, has Mr. Oxen- 

ham come home ?•’ 

There was a dead silence for a moment among the gentle- 
men round ; and then Sir Richard said solemnly, and in a low 
voice, turning away from the old dame, — 

‘ Amyas, Mr. Oxenham has not come home; and, from the 
day he sailed, no word has been heard of him and all his 
crew.’ 

‘ Oh, Sir Richard ! and you kept me from sailing with him ! 
Had I known this before 1 went into church, I had had one 
mercy more to thank God for.’ 

‘ Thank Him all the more in thy life, my child ! ’ whispered 
his mother. 

‘ And no news of him whatsoever ? ’ 

‘ None ; but that the year after he sailed, a ship belonging 
to Andrew Barker, of Bristol, took out of a Spanish caravel, 
somewhere off the Honduras, his two brass guns : but whence 
they came the Spaniard knew not, having bought them at 
Nombre de Dios.’ 

‘Yes!’ cried the old woman, ‘they brought home the guns, 
and never brought home my boy ! ’ 

‘ They never saw your boy, mother,’ said Sir Richard. 

‘ But I’ve seen him I I saw him in a dream four years last 
Whitsuntide, as plain as I see you now, gentles, a-lying upon a 
rock, calling for a drop of water to cool his tongue, like Dives 
to the torment I Oh ! dear me ! ’ and the old dame wept bit- 
terly. 

‘ There is a rose noble for you ! ’ said Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ And there another ! ’ said Sir Richard. And in a few 
minutes four or five gold coins were in her hand. But the old 
dame did but look wonderingly at the gold a moment, and 
then, — 

‘ Ah ! dear gentles, God’s blessing on you, and Mr. Cary’s 
mighty good to me already ; but gold won’t buy back childer ! 
Oh ! young gentleman ! young gentleman ! make n®a promise ; 
if you want God’s blessing on you this. day, bring me back my 
boy, if you find him sailing on the seas ! Bring him back, and 
an old widow’s blessing be on you ! ’ 

Amyas promised — what else could he do ? — and the group 
hurried on ; but the lad’s heart was heavy in the midst of joy, 
with the thought of John Oxenham, as he walked through the 
churchyard, and down the short street which led between the 
ancient school and the still more ancient town-house, to the 


34 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


head of the long bridge, across*which the pageant, having been 
arranged ‘ east-the-water,’ was to defile, and then turn to the 
right along the quay. 

However, he was bound in all courtesy to turn his attention 
now to the show which had been prepared in his honor ; and 
which was really well enough worth seeing and hearing. The 
English were, in those days, an altogether dramatic people ; 
ready and able, as in Bideford that day, to extemporize a 
pageant, a masque, or any effort of the Thespian art short of 
the regular drama. For they were, in the first place, even 
down to the very poorest, a well-fed people, with fewer luxu- 
ries than we, but more abundant necessaries ; and while beef, 
ale, and good woollen clothes could be , obtained in plenty, 
without overworking either body or soul, men had time to 
amuse themselves in something more intellectual than mere 
toping in pothouses. Moreover, the half-century after the Refor- 
mation in England, was one not merely of new intellectual 
freedom, but of immense animal good spirits. After years of 
dumb confusion and cruel persecution, a breathing time had 
come : Mary and the fires of Smithfield had vanished together 
like a hideous dream, and the mighty shout of joy which 
greeted Elizabeth’s entry into London, was the key-note of 
fifty glorious years ; the expression of a new-found strength 
and freedom, which vented itself at home in drama and in 
song ; abroad in mighty conquests, achieved with the laughing 
recklessness of boys at play. 

So first, preceded by the waits, came along the bridge tow- 
ard the town-hall, a device prepared by the good rector, who, 
standing by, acted as showman, and explained anxiously to the 
bystanders the import of a certain ‘ allegory,’ wherein on a 
great banner was depicted Queen Elizabeth herself, who, in 
ample ruff and farthingale, a Bible in one hand and a sword in 
the other, stood triumphant upon the necks of two sufficiently 
abject personages, whose triple tiara and imperial crown pro- 
claimed them the Pope and the King of Spain ; while a label, 
issuing ffom her royal mouth informed the world that — 

land and sea a virgin queen I reign. 

And spurn to dust both Antichrist and Spain.* 

Which having been received with due applause, a well-bediz- 
ened lad, having in his cap as a posy ‘ Loyalty,’ stepped 
forward, and delivered himself of the following verses : — 

* Oh, great Eliza ! oh, world-famous crew ! 

Which shall I hail mere blest, your queen or you ? 

While without other either falls to wrack, 

And light must eyes, or eyes their light must lack. 


THE FIRST TIME. 


35 


She without you, a diamond sunk in mine, 

ItjS worth unprized, to self alone must shine ; 

You without her, like hands bereft of head. 

Like Ajax rage, by blindfold lust misled. 

She light, you eyes ; she head, and you the hands. 

In fair proportion knit by heavenly bands ; 

Servants in queen, and queen in servants blest ; 

Your only glory, how to serve her best : 

And hers how best the adventurous might to guide, 
Which knows no check of foemen, wind, or tide. 

So fair Eliza’s spotless fame may fly 
Triumphant round the globe, and shake th’ astounded sky ! * 


With which sufficiently bad verses Loyalty passed on, while 
my Lady Bath hinted to Sir Richard, not without reason, that 
the poet, in trying to exalt both parties, had very sufficiently 
snubbed both, and intimated, that it was ‘ hardly safe for 
country wits to attempt that euphuistic, antithetical, and deli- 
cately conceited vein, whose proper fountain was in Whitehall.’ 
However, on went Loyalty, very well pleased with himself, 
and next, amid much cheering, two great tinsel fish, a salmon 
and trout, symbolical of the wealth of Torridge, waddled along, 
.by means of two human legs and a staff apiece, which pro- 
truded from the fishes’ stomachs. They drew (or seemed to 
draw, for half the ’prentices in the town were shoving it be- 
hind, and cheering on the panting rnonarchs of the flood) a 
car wherein sate, amid reeds and river-flags, three or four 
pretty girls in robes of gray-blue spangled with gold, their 
heads wreathed, one with a crown of the sweet bog-myrtle, 
another with hops and white convolvulus, the third with pale 
heather and golden fern. They stopped opposite Amyas ; and 
she of the myrtle-wreath, rising and bowing to him and the 
company, began with a pretty blush to say her say : — 

‘ Hither from my moorland home, 

Nymph of Torridge, proud I come ; 

Leaving fen and furzy brake. 

Haunt of eft and spotted snake, 

Where to fill mine urns I use, 

Daily with Atlantic dews ; 

While beside the reedy flood 
"Wild duck leads her paddling brood. 

For this morn, as Phoebus gay 

Chased through heaven the night mist gray, 

Close beside me, prankt in pride. 

Sister Tamar rose, and cried, 

“ Sluggard, up ! ’Tis holiday. 

In the lowlands far away. 

Hark ! how jocund Plymouth bells. 

Wandering up through mazy dells, 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


Call me down, with smiles to hail. 

My darling Drake’s returning sail.” 

“ Thine alone ? ” I answer’d. “ Nay ; 
Mine as well the joy to-day. 

Heroes train’d on Northern wave, 

To that Argo new I gave j 

Lent to thee, they roani’d the tnain ; 

Give me, nymph, my sons again.” 

“ Go, they wait thee,” Tamar cried, 
Southward bounding from my side. 

Glad 1 rose, and at my call. 

Came my Naiads, one and all. 

Nursling of the mountain sky, 

Leaving Dian’s choir on high, 

Down her cataracts laughing loud, 
Ockment leapt from crag and cloud. 
Leading many a nymph, who dwells 
Where wild deer drink in ferny dells ; 
While the Oreads as they past. 

Peep’d from Druid Tors aghast. 

By alder copses sliding slow. 

Knee-deep in flowers came gentler Yeo, 
And paus’d awhile her locks to twine 
With musky hops and white woodbine. 
Then join’d the silver-footed band-. 
Which circled down my golden sand, 

By dappled park, and arbor shady. 
Haunt of love-lorn knight and lady. 

My thrice-renowned sons to greet. 

With rustic song and pageant meet. 

For joy ! the girdled globe around 
Eliza’s name henceforth shall sound. 
Whose venturous fleets to conquest start. 
Where ended once the seaman’s chart, 
While circling Sol his steps shall count 
Henceforth from Thule’s western mount. 
And lead new rulers round the seas 
From furthest Cassiterides. 

For found is now the golden tree, 

Solved th’ Atlantic mystery. 

Pluck’d the dragon-guarded fruit, 

While around the charmed root, 

Wailing loud the Hesperids 
Watch their warder’s drooping lids. 

Low he lies with grisly wound, 

V/liile the sorceress, triple-crown’d, 

In her scarlet robe doth shield him. 

Till her cunning spells have heal’d him. 
Ye, meanwhile-, around the earth 
Bear the prize of manful worth. 

Yet a nobler meed than gold 
Waits for Albion’s children bold ; 

Great Eliza’s virgin hand 
Welcomes you to Fairy-land, 

While your native Naiads bring 
Native wreaths as offering. 


THE FIRST TIME. 


37 


Simple though their show may be, 

Britain’s worship in them see. 

’Tis not price, nor outward fairness. 

Gives the victor’s palm its rareness j 
Simplest tokens can impart 
Noble throb to noble heart ; 

Graecia, prize thy parsley crown, 

Boast thy laurel, Caesar’s town ; 

Moorland myrtle still shall be 
Badge of Devon’s Chivalry ! ’ 

And so ending, she took the wreath of fragrant gale from 
her own head, and stooping from the car, placed it on the head 
of Amyas Leigh, who made answer : — 

‘ There is no place like home, my fair mistress ; and no 
scent, to my taste, like this home-scent, in all the spice-islands 
that I ever sailed by ! ’ 

‘ Her song was not so bad,’ said Sir Richard to Lady Bath ; 
‘ but how came she to hear Plymouth bells at Tamar-head, full 
fifty miles away .? That’s too much of a poet’s license, is it 
not ? ’ • 

‘ The river nymphs, as daughters of Oceanus, and thus of 
immortal parentage, are bound to possess organs of more than 
mortal keenness ; but, as you say, the song was not so bad — 
erudite, as well as prettily conceived — and, saving for a cer- 
tain rustical simplicity and monosyllabic baldness, smacks 
rather of the forests of Castaly than those of Torridge.’ 

So spake my Lady Bath ; whom Sir Richard wisely an- 
swered not ; for she was a terribly learned member of the 
college of critics, and disputed even with Sidney’s sister the 
chieftancy of the Euphuists ; so Sir Richard answered not, 
but answer was made for him. 

‘Since the whole choir of Muses, Madam, have migrated to 
the court of Whitehall, no wonder if some of the dev/s of Par- 
nassus should fertilize at times even our Devon moors.’ 

The speaker was a tall and slim young man, some five-and- 
twenty years old, of so rare and delicate a beauty, that it 
seemed that some Greek statue, or rather one of those pensive 
and pious knights whom the old German artists took delight to 
paint, had condescended to tread awhile this work-day earth 
in living flesh and blood. The forehead was very lofty and 
smooth, the eyebrows thin and greatly arched (the envious 
gallants whispered that something at least of their curve was 
due to art, as was also the exceeding smoothness of those del- 
icate cheeks). The face was somewhat long and thin ; the 
nose aquiline ; and the languid mouth showed, perhaps, too 
much of the ivory upper teeth ; but the most striking point 
4 


38 


now AMYAS CAME HOME 


of the speaker’s appearance was the extraordinary brilliancy 
of his complexion, which shamed with its whiteness that of 
all fair ladies round, save where upon each cheek a bright 
red spot gave warning, as did the long thin neck and the taper 
hands, of sad possibilities, perhaps not far off ; possibilities 
which all saw with an inward sigh, except she whose doting 
glances, as well as her resemblance to the fair youth, pro- 
claimed her at once his mother, Mrs. Leigh herself. 

Master Frank, for he it was, was dressed in the very extrav- 
agance of the fashion, — not so much from vanity, as from 
that delica'le instinct of self-respect which would keep some 
men spruce and spotless from one year’s end to another upon 
a desert island ; ‘ for,’ as Frank used to say in his sententious 
way, ‘ Mr. Frank Leigh at least bmiolds me, though none else 
be by ; and why should I be more discourteous to him than I 
permit others to be ? Be sure that he who is a Grobian in his 
own company, will, sooner or later, become a Grobian in that 
of his friends.’ 

So Mr. Frank was ^arrayed spotlessly; but after the latest 
fashion of Milan, not in trunk hose and slashed sleeves, nor in 
‘ French standing collar, treble quadruple dsedalian ruff, or 
stiff-necked rabato, that had more arches for pride, propped up 
with wire and timber, than five London bridges ;’ but in a close 
fitting and perfectly plain suit of dove-color, which set off 
cunningly the delicate proportions of his figure, and the del- 
icate hue of his complexion, which was shaded from the sun 
by a broad dove-colored Spanish hat, with feather to match, 
looped up over the right ear with a pearl brooch, and therein 
a crowned E, supposed by the damsels of Bideford to stand 
for Elizabeth, which was whispered to be the gift of some 
most illustrious hand. This same looping up was not without 
good reason and purpose prepense, thereby all the world had 
full view of a beautiful little ear, which looked as if it had 
been cut out of cameo, and made, as my Lady Rich once told 
him, ‘ to hearken only to the music of the spheres, or to the 
chants of cherubim.’ Behind the said car was stuck a fresh 
rose ; and the golden hair was all drawn smoothly back and 
round to the left temple, whence, tied with a pink ribbon in a 
great true-lover’s knot, a mighty love-lock, ‘ curled as it had 
been laid in press,’ rolled down low upon his bosom. Oh, 
Frank! Frank! have you come out on purpose to break the 
hearts of all Bideford burghers’ daughters ? And if so, did 
you expect to further that triumph by dyeing that pretty little 
pointed beard (with shame I report it) of a bright vermilion ? 
But we know you better, Frank, and so does your mother ; 


THE FIRST TIME. 


39 


and you are but a masquerading angel after all, in spite of 
your knots and your perfumes, and the gold chain round your 
neck, which a German princess gave you ; and the emerald 
ring on your right fore-finger, which Hatton gave you ; and 
the pair of perfumed gloves in your left which Sidney’s sister 
gave you ; and the silver-hilted Toledo which an Italian mar- 
quis gave you, on a certain occasion of which you never 
chose to talk, like a prudent and modest gentleman as you are : 
but of which the gossips talk, of course, all the more, and 
whisper that you saved his life from bravoes — a dozen, at 
the least, and had that sword for your i;eward, and might have 
had his beautiful sister’s hand beside, and I know not what 
else : but that you had so many lady-loves already, that you 
were loth to burden yourself with a fresh one. That, at least, 
we know to be a lie, fair Frank ; for your heart is as pure this 
day as when you knelt in your little crib at Burrough, and 
said, — 

‘ Four corners to my bed ; 

Four angels round my head ; 

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, 

Bless the bed that I lie on.’ 

And who can doubt it (if, being pure themselves, they have 
instinctive sympathy with what is pure), who ever looked into 
those great deep blue eyes of yours, ‘the black fringed cur- 
tains of whose azure lids,’ usually down-dropt^ as if in deepest 
thought, you raise slowly, almost wonderingly, each time you 
speak, as if awakening from some fair dream whose home is 
rather in your Platonical ‘ eternal world of supra-sensible 
forms,’ than on that work-day earth wherein you nevertheless 
acquit yourself so well ? There — I must stop describing 
you, or I shall catch the infection of your own Euphuism, and 
talk of you as you would have talked of Sidney, or of Spenser, 
or of that Swan of Avon, whose song had just begun when 
yours — but 1 will not anticipate ; my Lady Bath is waiting to 
give you her rejoinder. 

‘Ah, my silver-tongued scholar ! and are you, then, tha 
poet ? or have you been drawing on the inexhaustible bank of 
your friend Raleigh, or my cousin Sidney ? or has our new 
Cygnet Immerito lent you a few unpublished leaves from some 
fresh Shepherd’s Calendar ? ’ 

‘ Had either. Madam, of that cynosural triad been within 
call of my most humble importunities, your ears had been 
delectate with far nobler melody.’ 

‘ But not’ our eyes with fairer faces, eh ? Well, you have 
chosen your nymphs, and had good store from whence to pick, 


40 


HOW ABIYAS CAME HOME 


I doubt not. Few young Dulcinas round but must have been 
glad to take service under so renowned a captain ? ’ 

‘ The only difficulty, gracious Countess, has been to know 
where to fix the wandering choice of my bewildered eyes, 
where all alike are fair, and all alike facund.’ 

‘ We understand,’ said she, smiling.; — 

* Dan Cupid, choosing midst his mother’s graces. 

Himself more fair, made scorn of fairest faces.’ 

The young scholar capped her distich forthwith, and bowing 
to her with a meaning look, — 

* Then, Goddess, turn,’ he cried, * and veil thy light ; 

Blinded by thine, what eyes can choose aright ? ’ 

‘ Go, saucy Sir,’ said my lady, in high glee ; the pageant 
stays your supreme pleasure.’ 

And away went Mr. Frank as master of the revels, to bring 
up the ’prentices’ pageant ; while, for his sake, the nymph of 
Torridge was forgotten for awhile by all young dames, and 
most young gentlemen ; and his mother heaved a deep sigh, 
which Lady Bath overhearing, — 

‘What! in the dumps, good Madam, while we are all re- 
joicing in your joy ? Are you afraid that we court-dames shall 
turn your young Adonis’ brain for him ? ’ 

‘ I do, indeed, fear lest your condescension should make him 
forget that he is Only a poor squire’s orphan.’ 

‘ I will warrant him never to forget aught that he should 
recollect,’ said my Lady Bath. 

And she spoke truly. But soon Frank’s silver voice was 
heard calling out, — 

‘ Room there, good people, for the gallant ’prentice lads ! ’ 

And on they came, headed by a giant of buckram and paste- 
board armor, forth of whose stomach looked, like a clock face 
in a steeple, a human visage, to be greeted, as was the fashion 
then, by a volley of quips and puns from high and low. 

Young Mr. William Cary, of Clovelly, who was the wit of 
those parts, opened the fire by asking him whether he were 
Goliath, Gogmagog, or Grantorto in the romance ; for giants’ 
names always begin with a G. To which the giant’s stomach 
answered pretty surlily, — 

‘ Mine don’t ; I begin with an O.’ 

‘ Then thou criest out before thou art hurt, O cowardly 
giant I ’ 

‘ Let me out, lads,’ quoth the irascible visage, struggling in 
his buckram prison, ‘and I soon show him whether I be a 
coward.’ 


THE FIRST TIME. 


41 


* Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldst be beside 
thyself, and so wert but a mad giant.’ 

‘ And that were pity,’ said Lady Bath ; ‘ for by the romances, 
giants have never overmuch wit to spare.’ 

‘ Mercy, dear Lady ! ’ said Frank, ‘ and let the giant begin 
with an O.’ 

‘A ’ 

‘ A false start, giant ! you were to begin with an O.’ 

‘ I’ll make you end with an O, Mr. William Cary ! ’ roared 
the testy tower of buckram. 

‘ And so I do, for I end with “ Fico ! ” ’ 

‘Be mollified sweet giant,’ said Frank, ‘ and spare the rash 
youth of yon foolish knight. Shall elephants catch flies, or 
Hurlo-Thrumbo stain his club with brains of Dagonet the 
jester.? Be mollified; leave thy caverned grumblings, like 
Etna w'hen its windy wrath is past, and discourse eloquence 
from thy central omphalos, like Pythoness ventriloquizing.’ 

‘ If you do begin laughing at me too, Mr. Leigh ,’ said 

the giant’s clock-face, in a piteous tone. 

‘ 1 laugh not. Art thou not Ordulf the earl, and I thy hum- 
blest squire ? Speak up, my Lord ; your cousin, my Lady 
Bath, commands you.’ 

And at last the giant began : — 

* A giant T, Earl Ordulf men me call, — 

’Gainst Paynim foes Devonia’s champion tall ; 

In single fight six thousand Turks I slew ; 

Pull’d off a lion’s head, and ate it too ; 

With one shrewd blow, to let Saint Edward in, 

I smote the gates of Exeter in twain ; 

Till aged grown, by angels warn’d in dream, 

I built an abbey fair by Tavy stream. 

But treacherous time hath tripp’d my glories up. 

The stanch old hound must yield to stancher pup ; 

Here’s one so tall as I, and twice so bold. 

Where I took only cuffs, takes good red gold. 

From pole to pole resound his wondrous works. 

Who slew more Spaniards than I e’er slew Turks ; 

I strode across the Tavy stream : but he 

Strode round the world and back ; and here ’a be ! * 

‘ Oh, bathos ! ’ said Lady Bath, while the ’prentices shouted 
applause. ‘ Is this hedge-bantling to be fathered on you, Mr. 
Frank ? ’ 

‘ It is necessary by all laws of the drama. Madam,’ said 
Frank, with a sly smile, ‘ that the speech and the speaker shall 
fit each other. Pass on, Earl Ordulf ; a more learned worthy 
waits.’ 

Whereon, up came a fresh member of the procession ; 


42 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


namely, no less a person than Vindex Brimblecombe, the an- 
cient schoolmaster, with five-and-forty boys at his heels, who 
halting, pulled out his spectacles, and thus signified his for- 
giveness of his whilome broken head : — 

‘ That the world should have been circumnavigated, ladies 
and gentles, were matter enough of jubilation to the student of 
Herodotus and Plato, Plinius and — ahem : much more when 
the circumnavigators are Britons ; more, again, when Dam- 
nonians.’ 

‘Don’t swear,’ Master,’ said young Will Cary. 

‘ Gulielme Cary, Gulielme Cary, hast thou forgotten thy ’ 

‘ Whippings ? Never, old lad ! Go on ! but let not the 
license of the scholar overtop the modesty of the Christian.’ 

‘ More again, as I said, when, incolcB, inhabitants of Devon ; 
but, most of all, men of Bideford school. Oh, renowned 
school ! Oh, school-boys ennobled by fellowship with him ! 
Oh, most happy pedagogue, to whom it has befallen to have 
chastised a circumnavigator, and, like another Chiron, trained 
another Hercules : yet more than Hercules, for he placed his 
pillars on the ocean shore, and then returned ; but my scholar’s 
voyage ’ 

‘ Hark how the old fox is praising himself all along on the 
sly,’ said Cary. 

‘ Mr. William, Mr. William, peace ; — silentium, my grace- 
less pupil. Urge the foaming steed, and strike terror into the 
rapid stag, but meddle not with matters too high for thee.’ 

‘ He has given you the dor now. Sir,’ said Lady Bath ; ‘ let 
the old man say his say.’ 

‘ 1 bring, therefore, as my small contribution to this day’s 
feast, first a Latin epigram, as- thus ’ 

‘ Latin ? Let us hear it forthwith,’ cried my Lady. 

And the old pedant mouthed out, — 

‘ Torriguiam Tamaris ne spernat ; Leighius addet 
Mox terras terris, inclyte Drake, tuis.’ 

‘ Neat, i’ faith, la ! ’ Whereon all the rest, as in duty bound, 
approved also. 

‘ This for the erudite : for vulgar ears the vernacular is more 
consonant, sympathetic, instructive ; as thus : — 

* Famed Argo ship, that noble ship, by doughty Jason’s steering, 

Brought back to Greece the Golden fleece, from Colchis home careering ; 
But now her fame is' put to shame, while new Devonian Argo, 

Bound earth doth run in wake of sun, and brings a wealthier cargo.’ 

‘ Runs with a right fa-lal-la,’ observed Cary ; ‘ and would go 
nobly to a fiddle and a big drum.’ 


THE FIRST TIME. 


43 


* Ye Spaniards, quake ! our doughty Drake a royal swan is tested, 

On wing and oar, from shore to shore, the raging main who breasted : — 
But never needs to chant his deeds, like sw’an that lies a-dying, 

So far his name by trump of fame, around the sphere is flying.’ 

‘ Hillo ho! schoolmaster!’ shouted a voice from behind; 
‘ move on, and make way for Father Neptune ! ’ Whereon a 
whole storm of raillery fell upon the helpless pedagogue. 

‘ We waited for, the parson’s alligator, but we wain’t for 
your’n.’ 

‘ Allegory ! my children ! allegory ! ’ shrieked the man of 
letters. 

‘ What do ye call he an alligator for .? He is but a poor 
little starved evat ! ’ 

‘ Out of the road, old Custis ! March on, Don Palmado ! ’ 

These allusions to the usual instrument of torture in west 
country schools, made the old gentleman wince ; especially 
when they were followed home by — 

‘ Who stole Admiral Grenvile’s brooms, because birch rods 
were dear ? ’ 

But proudly he shook his bald head, as a bull shakes off the 
flies, and returned to the charge once more. 

* Great Alexander, famed commander, wept and made a pother. 

At conquering only half the world, but Drake hath conquered t’other ; 

And Hercules to brink of seas ! ’ 

c Oh ! ’ And clapping both hands to the back of his 

neck, the schoolmaster began dancing frantically about, while 
his boys behind broke out tittering, — 

‘ Oh ! the ochidore ! look to the blue ochidore ! Who’ve put 
ochidore to maister’s pole ’ • 

It was too true : neatly inserted, as he stooped forward, be- 
tween his neck and his collar, was a large live shore-crab, 
holding on tight with both hands. 

‘ Gentles ! good Christians ! save me ! I am mare-rode ! In- 
cubo, vel ah incubo^ opprimor ! Satanas has me by the poll ! 
Help ! he tears my jugular ; he rings my neck, as he does 
to Dr. Faustus in the play. Confiteor ! — I confess ! Satan, I 
defy thee ! Good people, I confess ! BaoanUuai ! The truth 
will out. Mr. Francis Leigh wrote the'epigram ! ’ And diving 
through the crowd, the pedagogue vanished howling, while 
Father Neptune, crowned with sea-weeds, a trident in one 
hand, and a live dog-fish in the other, swaggered up the street, 
surrounded by a tall body-guard of mariners, and followed by 
a great banner, on which was depicted a globe, with Drake’s 
ship sailing thereon upside down, and overwritten — 


44 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 

‘ See every man the Pelican, 

Which round the world did go, 

While her stern-post was uppermost, 

And topmasts down below. 

And by the way she lost a day. 

Out of her log was stole : 

But Neptune kind, with favoring wind, , 

Hath brought her safe and whole.’ 

‘ Now, lads ! ’ cried Neptune ; ‘ hand me my parable that’s 
writ for me, and here goeth ! ’ And at the lop of his bull- 
voice, he began roaring, — - 

* I am King Neptune bold, • 

The ruler of the seas ; 

I don’t understand much singing upon land. 

But I hope what I say will please. 

* Here be five Bideford men. 

Which have sail’d the world around 
And I watch’d them well as they all can tell. 

And brought them home safe and sound. 

* For it is the men of Devon, 

To see them I take delight. 

Both to tack and to hull, and to heave and to pull. 

And to prove themselves in fight. 

* Where be those Spaniards proud, 

That make their valiant boasts ; 

And think for to keep the poor Indians for their sheep, 

And to farm my golden coasts ? 

‘ ’Twas the devil and the Pope gave them 
My kingdom for their own : 

But my nephew Francis Drake, he caused them to quake. 

And he pick’d them to the bone. 

* For the sea my realm it is. 

As good Queen Bess’s is the land ; 

So freely come again, all merry Devon men. 

And there’s old Neptune’s hand.’ 

‘ Holla, boys ! holla ! Blow up, Triton, and bring forward 
the freedom of the seas.’ 

Triton, roaring through a conch, brought forward a cockle- 
shell full of salt-water, and delivered it solemnly to Amyas, 
who, of course, put a noble into it, and returned it, after Gren- 
vile had done the same. 

‘ HoUa, Dick Admiral ! ’ cried Neptune, who was pretty far 
gone in liquor; ‘we knew thou hadst a right English heart in 
thee, for all thou standest there as taunt as a Don who has swal- 
lowed his rapier.’ 


THE FIRST TIME. 


45 


‘ Gramercy, stop thy bellowing, fellow, and on ; for thou 
smellest vilely of fish.’ 

‘ Everything smells sweet in its right place. I’m going 
home.’ 

‘ I thought thou wert there all along, being already half-seas 
‘ over,’ said Gary. 

‘Ay, right Upsee-Dutch; and that’s more than thou ever 
wilt be, thou ’long-shore stay-at-home. Why wast making 
sheep’s eyes at Mistress Salterne here, while my pretty little 
chuck of Burrough there was playing at shove-groat with Span- 
ish doubloons .? ’ ' . 

‘ Go.to the devil, sirrah ! ’ said Cary. Neptune had touched 
on a sore subject ; and more cheeks than Amyas Leigh’s’ red- 
dened at the hint. 

‘Amen, if heaven so please I ’ and on rolled the monarch of 
• the seas ; and so the pageant ended. 

The moment Amyas had an opportunity, he asked his brother 
Frank, somewhat peevishly, where Rose Salterne was ? ’ 

‘ What ! the mayor’s daughter ? With her uncle, by Kilk- 
hampton, I believe.’ 

Now cunning Master Frank, whose daily wish was to ‘seek 
peace and ensue it,’ told Amyas this, because he must needs 
speak the truth : but he was purposed at the same time to speak 
as little truth as he could, for fear of accidents ; and, therefore, 
omitted to tell his brother how that he, two days before, had 
entreated Rose Salterne herself to appear as the nymph of Tor- 
ridge ; which honor she, who had no objection either to exhibit 
her pretty face, to recite pretty poetry, or to be trained thereto 
by the cynosure of North Devon, would have assented willingly, 
but that her father stopped the pretty project by a peremptory 
countermove, and packed her off, in spite of her tears, to the 
said uncle on the Atlantic cliffs ; after which he went up to 
Burrough, and laughed over the whole matter with Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ 1 am but a burgher, Mrs. Leigh, and you a lady of blood ; 
but I am too proud to let any man say that Simon Salterne 
threw his daughter at your son’s head ; — no, not if you were 
an empress ! ’ 

‘And, to speak truth, Mr. Salterne, there are young gallants 
enough in the country quarrelling about her pretty fkce every 
day, without making her a tourney-queen to tilt about.’ 

Which was very true ; for during the three years of Amyas’s 
absence, Rose Salterne had grown into so beautiful a girl of 
eighteen, that half North Devon was mad about the ‘ Rose of 
Torridge,’ as she was called ; and there was not a young gal- 
lant for ten miles round (not to speak of her father’s clerks and 


46 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME. 

’prentices, who moped about after her like so many Malvolios, 
and treasured up the very parings of her nails), who would not 
have gone to Jerusalem to win her. So that all along the vales 
of Torridge and of Taw, and even away to Clovelly (for young 
Mr. Cary was one of the sick), not a gay bachelor but was 
frowning on his fellows, and vying with them in the fashion of 
his clothes, the set of his ruffs, the harness of his horse, the 
carriage of his hawks, the pattern of his sword-hilt ; and those 
were golden days for all tailors and armorers, from Exmoor to 
Okehampton town. But of all those foolish young lads not one 
would speak to the other, either out hunting, or at the archery 
butts, or in the tilt-yard ; and my Lady Bath (who confessed 
that there was no use in .bringing out her daughters where Rose 
Salterne was in the way) prophesied in her classical fashion 
that Rose’s wedding bid fair to be a very bridal of Atalanta, 
and feast of the Lapithse ; and poor Mr. Will Cary (who al-* 
ways blurted out the truth), when Old Salterne once asked him 
angrily, in Bideford market, ‘ What a plague business had he 
making sheep’s eyes at his daughter,’ broke out before all by- 
standers, ‘ And what a plague business had you, old boy, to 
throw such an apple of discord into our merry meetings here- 
abouts ? If you choose to have such a daughter, you must take 
the consequences, and be hanged to you.’ To which Mr. Sal- 
terne answered, with some truth, ‘ That she was none of his 
choosing, nor of Mr. Cary’s neither.’ And so the dor being 
given, the belligerents parted laughing, but the war remained 
in statu quo ; and not a week passed but, by mysterious hands, 
some nosegay, or languishing sonnet, was conveyed into The 
Rose’s Chamber, all which she stowed away, with the simplicity, 
of a country girl, finding it mighty pleasant ; and took all com- 
pliments quietly enough, probably because, on the authority of 
her mirror, she considered them no more than her due. 

And now, to add to the general confusion, home was come 
young Amyas Leigh, more desperately in love with her than 
ever. For, as is the way with sailors (who after all are the 
truest lovers, as they are the finest fellows, God bless them, 
upon earth), his lonely ship-watches had been spent in imprint- 
ing on his imagination, month after month, year after year, 
every feature, and gesture, and tone of the fair lass whom he 
had left behind him ; and that all the more intensely because, 
beside his mother, he had no one else to think of, and was as 
pure as the day he was born, having been trained, as many a 
brave young man was then, to look upon profligacy not as a 
proof of manhood, but as what the old Germans, and those 
Gortyneans who crowned the offender with wool, knew it, to be, 
a cowardly and effeminate sin. 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


47 



CHAPTER III. 

OF TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES,. AND HOW THEY HUNTED 
WITH THE HOUNDS, AND YET RAN WITH THE DEER. 

* I know that Deformed ; he has been a vile thief this seven years ; he 
goes up and down like a gentleman : I remember his name.’ — Much Ado 
About JVothing. 

Amyas slept that night a tired and yet a troubled sleep ; and 
his mother and Frank, as they bent over his pillow, could see 
that his brain was busy with many dreams. 

And no wonder ; for over and above all the excitement of 
the day, the recollection of John Oxenham had taken strange 
possession of his mind ; and all that evening, as he sat in the 
bay-windowed room where he had seen him last, Amyas was 
recalling to himself every look and gesture of the lost adven- 
turer, and wondering at himself for so doing, till he retired to 
sleep, only to renew the fancy in his dreams. At last he found 
himself, he knew not how, sailing westward ever, up the wake 
of the setting sun, in chase of a tiny sail, which was John Ox- 
enham’s. Upon him was a painful sense that, unless he came 
up with her in time, something fearful would come to pass : 
but the ship would not sail. All around floated the sargasso 
beds, clogging her bows with their long snaky coils of weed ; 
and still he tried to sail, and tried to fancy that he was sailing, 
till the sun went down, and all was utter dark. And then the 
moon arose, and in a moment John Oxenham’s ship was close 
aboard ; her sails were torn and fluttering ; the pitch was 
streaming from her sides ; her bulwarks were rotting to decay. 
And what was that line of dark objects dangling along the 
main-yard.? — A line of hanged men! And, horror of hor- 
rors, from the yard-arm, close above him, John Oxenham’s 
corpse looked down with grave-light eyes, and beckoned and 
pointed, as if to show him his way, and strove to speak, and 
could not, and pointed still, not forward, but back along their 
course. And when Amyas looked back, behold, behind him 
was the snow range of the Andes glittering in the moon, and 
he knew that he was in the South Seas once more, and that all 


48 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


America was between him and home. And still the corpse 
kept pointing back, and back^ and looking at him with yearn- 
ing eyes of agony, and lips which longed to tell some awful 
secret ; till he sprang up, and woke with a shout of terror, and 
found himself lying in the little covered chamber in dear old 
Burrough, with the gray autumn morning already stealing in. 

Feverish and excited, he tried in vain to sleep again ; and 
after an hour’s tossing, rose and dressed, and started for a bathe 
on his beloved old pebble ridge. As he passed his mother’s 
door, he could not help looking in. The dim light of morning 
showed him the bed ; but its pillow had not been pressed that 
night. His mother, in her long white night-dress, was kneeling 
at the other end of the chamber at her prie-dieu, absorbed in 
devotion. Gently he slipped in without a word, and knelt down 
at her side. She turned, smiled, passed her arm around him, 
and went on silently with her prayers. Why not ? They were 
for him, and he knew it, and prayed also ; and his prayers 
were for her, and poor lost John Oxenham, and all his vanished 
crew. 

At last she rose, and standing above hitff, parted the yellow 
locks from off his brow, and looked long and lovingly into his 
face. There was nothing to be spoken, for there was nothing to 
be concealed between those two souls as clear as glass. Each 
knew all which the other meant; each knew that its own 
thoughts were known. At last the mutual gaze was over; 'she 
stooped and kissed him on the brow, and was in the act to turn 
away, as a tear dropped on his forehead. Her little bare feet 
were peeping out from under her dress. He bent down, and 
kissed them again and again ; and then looking up, as if to 
excuse himself, — 

‘ You have such pretty feet, mother ! ’ 

Instantly, with a wo'man’s instinct, she had hidden them. She 
had been a beauty once, as I said ; and though her hair was 
gray, and her roses had faded long ago, she was beautiful still, 
in all eyes which saw deeper than the mere outward red and 
white. 

‘ lour dear father used to say so, thirty years ago.’ 

‘ And I say so still : you always were beautiful ; you are 
beautiful now.’ 

‘ What is that to you, silly boy ? Will you play the lover 
with an old mother ? Go and take your walk, and think of 
younger ladies, if you can find any worthy of you.’ 

And so the son went forth, and the motlier returned to her 
prayers. 

He walked down to the pebble ridge, where the surges of the 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


49 


bay have defeated their own fury, by rolling up in the course 
of ages a rampart of gray boulder-stones, some two miles long, 
as cunningly curved, and smoothed, and fitted, as if the work 
had been done by human hands, which protects from the high 
tides of spring and autumn a fertile sheet of smooth alluvial 
turf. Sniffing the keen salt air like a young sea-dog, he stripped 
and plunged into the breakers, and dived, and rolled, and tossed 
about the foam with stalwart arms, till he heard himself hailed 
from off the shore, and looking up, saw standing on the top of 
the rampart the tall figure of his cousin Eustace. 

Arnyas was half-disappointed at his coming; for, love-lorn 
rascal, he had been dreaming all the way thither of Rose Sal- 
terne, and had no wish for a companion who would prevent his 
dreaming of her all the way back. Nevertheless, not having 
seen Eustace for three years, it was but civil to scramble out 
and dress, while his cousin walked up and down upon the turf 
inside. 

Eustace Leigh was the son of a younger brother of Leigh of 
Burrough, who had more or less cut himself off from his fam- 
ily, and indeed from his countrymen, by remaining a Papist. 
True, though born a Papist, he had not always been one; for, 
like many of the gentry, he had become a Protestant under 
Edward the Sixth, and then a Papist again under Mary. But, 
to his honor be it said, at that point he had stopped, having too 
much honesty to turn Protestant a second time, as hundreds 
did, at Elizabeth’s accession. So a Papist he remained, living 
out of the way of the world in a great, rambling, dark house, 
still called ‘Chapel,’ on the Atlantic cliffs, in Moorwinstow 
parish, not far from Sir Richard Grenvile’s house of Stow. 
The penal laws never troubled him ; for, in the first place, they 
never troubled any one who did not make conspiracy and rebel- 
lion an integral doctrine of his religious creed ; and next, they 
seldom troubled even them, unless, fired with the glory of mar- 
tyrdom, they bullied the long-suffering of Elizabeth and her 
council into giving them their deserts, and, like poor Father 
Southwell in after years, insisted on being hanged, whether 
Burleigh liked or not. Moreover, in such a no-man’s-land and 
end-of-all-the-earth was that old house at Moorwinstow, that a 
dozen conspiracies might have been hatched there, without any 
one hearing of it ; and Jesuits and seminary priests skulked in 
and out all the year round, unquestioned though unblcst ; and 
found a sort of piquant pleasure, like naughty boys who have 
crept into the store-closet, in living in mysterious little dens in 
a lonely turret, and going up through a trap-door to celebrate 
mass in a secret chamber in the roof, where they were allowed 
5 


50 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


by the powers that were, to play as much as they chose at per- 
secuted saints, and preach about hiding in dens and caves of the 
earth. For once, when the zealous parson of Moorwinstow, 
having discovered (what everybody knew already) the exist- 
ence of ‘ mass priests and their idolatry ’ at Chapel House, 
made formal complaint thereof to Sir Richard, and called on 
him, as the nearest justice of the peace, to put in force the act 
of the fourteenth of Elizabeth, that worthy knight only rated 
him soundly for a fantastical puritan, and bade him mind his 
own business, if he wished not to make the place too hot for 
him ; whereon (for the temporal authorities, happily for the 
peace of England, kept in those days a somewhat tight hand 
upon the spiritual ones) the worthy parson subsided, — for, 
after all, Mr. Thomas Leigh paid his tithes regularly enough,. — 
and was content, as he expressed it, to bow his head in the 
house of Rimmon like Naaman of old, by eating Mr. Leigh’s 
dinners as often as he was invited, and ignoring the vocation of 
old Father Francis, who sat opposite to him, dressed as a lay- 
man, and calling himself the young gentleman’s pedagogue. 

But the said birds of ill omen had a very considerable lien on 
the. conscience of poor Mr. Thomas Leigh, the father of Eus- 
tace, in the form of certain lands once belonging to the Abbey 
of Hartland. He more than half believed that he should be 
lost for holding those lands; but he did not believe it wholly, 
and, therefore, he did not give them up ; which was the case, 
as poor Mary Tudor found to her sorrow, with most of her 
‘Catholic’ subjects, whose consciences, while they compelled 
them to return to the only safe fold of Mother Cliurch [extra 
qiiam nulla salus)^ by no means compelled them to disgorge the 
wealth of which they had plundered that only hope of their sal- 
vation. Most of them, however, like poor Tom Leigh, felt the 
abbey rents burn in their purses ; and, as John Bull generally 
does in a difficulty, compromised the matter by a second folly 
(as if two wrong things made one right one) and petted foreign 
priests, and listened, or pretended not to listen, to their plottings 
and their practisings ; and gave up a son here, and a son there, 
as a sort of sin-offering and scape-goat, to be carried off to 
Douay, or Rheims, or Rome, and trained as a seminary priest ; 
in plain English, to be taught the science of villany, on the 
motive of superstition. One of such hapless scape-goats, and 
children who had been cast into the fire to Molocli, was Eus- 
tace Leigh, whom his father had sent, giving the fruit of his 
body for the sin of his soul, to be made a liar of at Rheims. 

And a very fair liar he had become. Not that the lad was 
a bad fellow at heart ; but he had been chosen by the harpies 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


51 


at home, on account of his ‘ peculiar vocation in plain Eng- 
lish, because the wily priests had seen in him certain capacities 
of vague hysterical fear of the unseen (the religious sentiment, 
we call it now-a-days), and with them that tendency to be a 
rogue, which superstitious men always have. He was now a 
tall, handsome, light-complexioned man, with a huge upright 
forehead, a very small mouth, and a dry and set expression of 
face, which was always trying to get f^ree, or rather to seem 
free, and indulge in smiles and dimples, which were proper ; 
for one ought to have Christian love, and if one had love one 
ought to be cheerful, and when people were cheerful they 
smiled ; and therefore he would smile, and tried to do so; but 
his charity prepense looked no more alluring than malice pre- 
pense would have done ; and, had he not been really a hand- 
some fellow, many a woman who raved about his sweetness, 
would have likened his frankness to that of a skeleton dancing 
in fetters, and his smiles to the grins thereof. He had returned 
to England about a month before, in obedience to the procla- 
mation which had been set forth for that purpose (and certainly 
not before it was needed), that ‘ whosoever had children, wards, 
&c., in the parts beyond the seas, should send in their names to 
the ordinary, and within four months call them home again.’ 
So Eustace was now staying with his father at Chapel, having, 
nevertheless, his private matters to transact on behalf of the vir- 
tuous society by whom he had been brought up ; one of which 
private matters had brought him to Bideford the night before. 

So he sat dow:n beside Amyas on the pebbles, and looked at 
him all over out of the corners of his eyes very gently, as if 
he did not wish to hurt him, or even the flies on his back ; and 
Amyas faced right round, and looked him full in the face, with 
the heartiest of smiles, and held out a lion’s paw, which Eus- 
tace took rapturously, and a great shaking of hands ensued ; 
Amyas griping with a great round fist, and a quiet quiver there- 
of, as much as to say, ‘ I am glad to see you ; ’ and Eustace 
pinching hard with quite straight fingers, -and sawing the air 
violently up and down, as much as to say, ‘ Don't you see how 
glad I am to see you } ’ A very different greeting from the 
former. 

‘ Hold hard, old lad,’ said Amyas, ‘ before you break my 
elbow. And where do you come from ? ’ 

‘ From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up 
and down in it,’ said he, with a little smile and nod of myste- 
rious self-importance. 

‘ Like the devil, eh > Well, every man has his pattern. 
How is my uncle ’ 


52 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


Now, if there was one man on earth above another, of whom 
Eustace Leigh stood in dread, it was his Cousin Amyas. In 
the first place, he knew Amyas could have killed him with a 
blow ; and there are natures, who, instead of rejoicing in the 
strength of men of greater prowess than themselves, look at 
such with irritation, dread, at last, spite ; expecting, perhaps, 
that the stronger wilt do to them, what they feel they might 
have done in his place. Every one, perhaps, has that same 
envious, cowardly devil haunting about his heart; but the brave 
men, though they be very sparrows, kick him out ; the cowards 
keep him, and foster him, and so did poor Eustace Leigh. 

Next, he could not help feeling that Amyas despised him. 
They had not met for three years : but before Amyas went, 
Eustace never could argue with him ; simply because Amyas 
treated him as beneath argument. No doubt he was often rude 
and unfair enough ; but the whole mass of questions concern- 
ing the unseen world, which the priests had stimulated in his 
cousin’s mind into an unhealthy fungus crop, were to Amyas 
simply, as he expressed it, ‘ wind and moonshine ; ’ and he 
treated his cousin as a sort of harmless lunatic, and, as they 
say in Devon, ‘ half-baked.’ And Eustace knew it ; and knew, 
too, that his cousin did him an injustice. ‘ He used to under- 
value me,’ said he to himself; ‘let us see whether he does 
not find me a match for him now.’ And then went off into an 
agony of secret contrition for his self-seeking, and his forgetting 
that the ‘ glory of God, and not his own exaltation,’ was the 
object of his existence. 

There, dear readers. Ex pede Herculem ; I cannot tire 
myself or you (especially in this book) with any wire-drawn 
soul-dissections. I have tried to hint to you two opposite sorts 
of men. The one trying to be good with all his might and 
main, according to certain approved methods and rules, which 
he has got by heart ; and like a weak oarsman, feeling and 
fingering his spiritual muscles over all day, to see if they are 
growing. The other, not even knowing whether he is good or 
not, but just doing the right thing without thinking about it, as 
simply as a little child, because the spirit of God is with him. 
If you cannot see the great gulf fixed between the two, I trust 
that you will discover it some day. 

But in justice be it said, all this came upon Eustace, not be- 
cause he was a Romanist, but because he was educated by the 
Jesuits. Had he been saved from them, he might have lived 
and died as simple and honest a gentlemen as his brothers, who 
turned outjike true Englishmen (as did all the Romish laity) 
to face the great Armada, and one of whom was fighting at 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


53 


that v^y minute under St. Leger in Ireland, and as brave and 
loyal a soldier as those Roman Catholics whose noble blood has 
stained every Crimsean battle-field ; but whose fate was ap- 
pointed otherwise; and the Upas-shadow which* has bfighted 
the whole Romish Church, blighted him also. 

‘ Ah ! my dearest cousin ! ’ said Eustace, ‘ how disappointed 
I was this morning at finding I had arrived just a day too late 
to witness your triumph ! But I hastened to your home as 
soon as I could, and learning from your mother that I should 
find you here, hurried down to bid you welcome again to 
Devon.’ 

‘ Well, old lad, it does look very natural to see you. I often 
used to think of you walking the deck o’ nights. Uncle and 
the girls are all right, then? But is the old pony dead yet? 
And how’s Dick the smith, and Nancy ? Grown a fine maid 
by now, I warrant. ’Slid, it seems half a life that I’ve been 
away.’ 

‘ And you really thought of your poor cousin ? Be sure that 
he, too, thought of you, and offered up nightly his weak prayers 
for your safety (doubtless not without avail) to those saints, to 
whom would that you — ’ 

‘ Halt there, coz. If they are half as good fellows as you and 
I take them for, they’ll help me without asking.’ 

‘They have helped you, Amyas.’ 

‘ Maybe ; I’d have done as much, I’m sure, for them, if I’d 
been in their place.’ 

‘ And do you not feel, then, that you owe a debt of gratitude 
to them ; and, above all, to her, whose intercessions have, I 
doubt not, availed for your preservation ? Her, the star of the 
sea, the all compassionate guide of the mariner? ’ 

‘ Humph ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ Here’s Frank, let him answer.’ 

And, as he spoke, up came Frank, and, after due greetings, 
sat down beside them on the ridge. 

‘ I say, brother, here’s Eustace already trying to convert me ; 
and telling me that I owe all my luck to the Blessed Virgin’s 
prayers for me.’ 

‘ It may be so,’ said Frank ; ‘ at least you owe it to the 
prayers of that most pure and peerless virgin, by whose com- 
mand you sailed ; the sweet incense of whose orisons have gone 
up for you daily, and for whose sake you were preserved from 
flood and foe, that you might spread the fame and advance the 
power of the spotless championess of truth, and right, and free- 
dom, — Elizabeth, your queen.’ 

Amyas answered this rhapsody, which would have been 
then both fashionable and sincere, by a loyal chuckle. Eustace 
5 ^ 


54 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


smiled meekly : but answered somewhat venomously never- 
theless, — 

‘ at least, am certain that I speak the truth, when I call my 
patroness a virgin undefiled.’ 

Both the brothers’ brows clouded at once. Amyas, as he lay 
on his back on the pebbles, said quietly to the gulls over his 
head, — 

‘ I wonder what the Frenchman, whose head I cut off at the 
Azores, thinks by now about all that.’ 

‘ Cut off a Frenchman’s head ? ’ said Frank. 

‘ Yes, faith ; and so fleshed my maiden sword. I’ll tell you. 
It was in some tavern ; I and George Drake had gone in, and 
there sat this Frenchman, with his sword on the table, ready for 
a quarrel (I found afterwards he was a noted bully), and begins 
with us loudly enough about this and that ; but, after awhile, by 
the instigation of the devil, what does he vent but a dozen slan- 
ders against her Majesty’s honor, one a top of the other. I was 
ashamed to hear them, and I should be more ashamed to repeat 
them.’ 

‘ I have heard enough of such,’ said Frank. ‘ They come 
mostly through lewd rascals about the French ambassador, who 
have been bred (God help them) among the filthy vices of that 
Medicean court, in which the Queen of Scots had her schooling ; 
and can only perceive in a virtuous freedom, a cloak for licen- 
tiousness like their own. Let the curs bark ; Honi soil qui vial 
y pense is our motto, and shall be for ever.’ 

‘ But I didn’t let the cur bark ; for I took him by the ears, to 
show him out into the street. Whereon he got to his sword, 
and I to mine ; and a very near chance I had of never bathing 
on the pebble-ridge more ; for the fellow did not fight with edge 
and buckler, like a Christian, but had some new-fangled French 
devil’s device of scryming and foining with his point, ha’incr 
and stamping, and tracing at me, that I expected to be full of 
eyelet holes ere I could close with him.’ 

‘ Thank God that you are safe, then,’ said Frank. I know 
that play well enough, and dangerous enough it is.’ 

‘ Of course you know it; but I didn’t, more’s the pity.’ 

‘ Well, I’ll teach it thee, lad, as well as Rowland Yorke him- 
self, — 


‘ Thy fincture, carricade, and sly passata, 

Thy strainazon, and i-esolute stoccata. 

Wiping niaudritta, closing embrocata, 

And all the cant of the honorable fencing mystery.* 

‘ Rowland Yorke ? Who’s he, then ? ’ 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


55 


‘ A very roystering rascal, who is making good profit in Lon- 
don just noy^ by teaching this very art of fence ; and is as likely 
to have his mortal thread dipt in a tavern brawl, as thy French- 
man. But how did you escape his pinking iron ? ’ 

, ‘ How ? Had it through my left arm before I could look 
round ; and at that I got mad, and leapt upon him, and caught 
him by the wrist, and then had a fair side-blow ; and, as fortune 
would have it, off tumbled his head on to the table, and there 
was an end of his slanders.’ 

‘ So perish all her enemies ! ’ said Frank ; and Eustace, who 
had been trying not to listen, rose and said, — 

‘ I trust that you do not number me among them ? ’ 

‘ As you speak, I do coz.,’ said Frank. ‘ But for your own 
sake, let me advise you to put faith in the true report of those 
who have daily experience of their mistress’s excellent virtue, 
as they have of the sun’s shining, and of the earth’s bringing 
forth fruit, and not in the tattle of a few cowardly back-stair 
rogues, who wish to curry favor with the Guises. Come, we 
will say no more. Walk round with us by Appledore, and then 
home to breakfast.’ 

But Eustace declined, having immediate business, he said, in 
Northam town, and then in Bideford ; and so left them to 
lounge for another half-hour on the beach, and then walk 
across the smooth sheet of turf to the little white fishing village, 
which stands some two miles above the bar, at the meeting of 
the Torridge and the Taw. 

Now it came to pass, that Eustace Leigh, as we have seen, 
told his cousins that he was going to Northam : but he did not 
tell them that his point was really the same as their own, 
namely, Appledore ; and, therefore, after having satisfied his 
conscience by going as far as the. very nearest house in North- 
am village, he struck away sharp to the left across the fields, 
repeating I know not what to the Blessed Virgin all the way; 
whereby he went several miles out of his road ; and also, as is 
the wont of crooked spirits, Jesuits especially (as three centuries 
sufficiently testify), only outwitted himself. For his cousins 
going merrily, like honest men, along the straight road across 
the turf, arrived in Appledore, opposite the little ‘ Mariner’s 
Rest’ Inn, just in time to see what Eustace had taken so much 
trouble to hide from them, namely, four of Mr. Thomas Leigh’s 
horses standing at the door, held by his groom, saddles and 
mail-bags on back, and mounting three of them, Eustace Leigh 
and two strange gentlemen. 

‘ There’s one lie already this morning,’ growled Amyas ; ‘ he 
told us he was going to Northam.’ 


56 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


‘ And we do not know that he has not been there,’ blandly 
suggested Frank. 

‘ Why, you are as bad a Jesuit as he, to help him out with 
such a fetch.’ 

‘ He may have changed his mind.’ 

‘ Bless your pure imagination, my sweet boy,’ said Amyas, 
laying his great hand on Frank’s head, and mimicking his 
mother’s manner. ‘ I say, dear Frank, let’s step into this shop, 
and buy a pennyworth of whipcord.’ 

‘ What do you want with whipcord, man ? ’ 

‘ To spin my top, to be sure.’ 

‘ Top ? How long hast had a top ? ’ 

‘I’ll buy one, then, and save my conscience ; but the upshot 
of this sport I must see. Why may not I have an excuse 
ready made as well as Master Eustace ? ’ 

So saying, he pulled Frank into the little shop, unobserved by 
the party at the inn door. 

‘ What strange cattle has he been importing now ? Look at 
that three-legged fellow, trying to get aloft on the wrong side. 
How he claws at his horse’s ribs, like a cat scratching an elder 
stem ! ’ 

The three-legged man was a tall, meek-looking person, who 
had bedizened himself with gorgeous garments, a great feather, 
and a sword so long and broad, that it differed little in size 
from the very thin and stiff shanks, between which it wandered 
uncomfortably. 

‘Young David in Saul’s weapons,’ said Frank. ‘ He had 
better not go in them, for he certainly has not proved them.’ 

‘ Look, if his third leg is not turned into a tail ! Why does 
not some one in charity haul in half-a-yard of his belt for 
him ? ’ 

It was too 'true ; the sword, after being kicked out three or 
four times from its uncomfortable post between his legs, had 
returned unconquered; and the hilt getting a little too far back 
by reason of the too great length of the belt, the weapon took up 
its post triumphantly behind, standing out point in air, a tail 
confest, amid the tittering of the hostlers, and the cheers of the 
sailors. 

At last the poor man, by dint of a chair, was mounted safely, 
while his fellow stranger, a burly, coarse-looking man, equally 
gay, and rather more handy, made so fierce a rush at his sad- 
dle, that, like ‘ vaulting ambition who o’erleaps his selle,’ he 
‘ fell on t’other side : ’ or would have fallen, had he not been 
brouglU up short by the shoulders of the hostler at the off-stirrup. 
In which shock off came hat and feather. 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


57 


‘ Pardie, the bulldog-faced one, is a fighting man- Dost see, 
Frank, he has had his head broken.’ 

‘ That scar came not, my son, but by a pair of most Catholic 
and apostolic scissors. My gentle buzzard, that is a priest’s 
tonsure.’ 

‘ Hang the dog ! O, that the sailors may but see it, and put 
him over the quay head. I’ve half a mind to go and do it 
myself.’ * # . 

‘ My dear Amyas,’ said Frank, laying two fingers on his 
arm, ‘ these men, whosoever they are, are the guests of our 
uncle, and therefore the guests of our family. Ham gained 
little by publishing Noah’s shame ; neither shall we, by publish- 
ing our uncle’s.’ 

‘ Murrain on you, old Franky, you never let a man speak 
his mind, and shame the devil.’ 

‘ 1 have lived long enough in courts, old Amyas, without a 
murrain on you, to have found out first, that it is not so easy 
to shame the devil ; and secondly, that it is better to outwit 
him ; and the only way to do that, sweet chuck, is very often 
not to speak your mind at all. We will go down and visit 
them at Chapel in a day or two, and see if we cannot serve 
these reynards as the badger did the fox, when he found him 
in his hole, and could not get him out by evil savors.’ 

‘ How then ’ 

Stuck a sweet nosegay in the door, which turned Reynard’s 
stomach at once; and so overcame evil with good.” 

‘ Well, thou art too good for this world, that’s certain ; so we 
will go home to breakfast. Those rogues are out of sight by 
now.’ 

Nevertheless, Amyas was not proof against the temptation of 
going over to the inn door, and asking who were the gentlemen 
who went with Mr. Leigh. 

‘ Gentlemen of Wales,’ said the hostler, ‘ who came last night 
in a pinnance from Milford Haven, and their names, Mr. Morgan 
Evans, and Mr. Evan Morgans.’ 

‘ Mr. Judas Iscariot, and Mr. Iscariot Judas,’ said Amyas 
between his teeth, and then observed aloud, ‘ that the Welsh 
gentlemen seemed rather poor horsemen.’ 

‘ So I said to Mr. Leigh’s groom, your worship. But he says 
that those parts be so uncommon rough and mountainous, that 
the poor gentlemen, you see, being enforced to hunt on foot, 
have no such opportunities as young gentlemen hereabout, like 
your worship ; whom God preserve, and send a virtuous lady, 
and one worthy of you.’ 

‘ Thou hast a villanously glib tongue, fellow ! ’ said Amyas.' 


58 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


who was thoroughly out of humor ; . and a sneaking down 
visage, too, when I come to look at you. I doubt but you 
are a Papist, too, I do ! ’ 

‘ Well, Sir! and what if I am ? I trust I don’t break the 
Queen’s laws by that. If I don’t attend Northam church, I pay 
my month’s shilling for the use of the poor, as the Act directs ; 
and beyond that, neither you nor any man dare demand of 
me.’ 

‘ Dare ! Act directs ! You rascally lawyer, you ! and whence 
does an hostler like you get your shilling to pay withal ? An- 
swer me.’ The examinate found it so difficult to answer the 
question, that he suddenly became afflicted with deafness. 

‘ Do you hear ? ’ roared Amyas, catching at him with his 
lion’s paw. 

‘ Yes, Missus ; anon, anon. Missus ! ’ quoth he to an imaginary 
landlady inside, and twisting under Amyas’s hand like an eel, 
vanished into the house, while Frank got the hot-headed youth, 
away. 

‘ What a plague is one to do, then ? . That fellow was a 
Papist spy ! ’ 

‘ Of course he was I ’ said Frank. 

‘ Then what is one to do, if the whole country is full of 
them ? ’ 

‘ Not to make fools of ourselves about them ; and. so leave 
them to make fools of themselves.’ 

‘ That’s all very fine : but — well, I shall remember the 
villain’s face if I see him again.’ 

‘ There is no harm in that,’ said Frank. 

‘ Glad you think so.’ 

‘ Don’t quarrel with me, Amyas, the first day.’ 

‘ Quarrel with thee, my darling old fellow 1 I had sooner 
kiss the dust off thy feet, if I were worthy of it. So now away 
home ; my inside cries cupboard.’ 

In the meanwhile Messrs. Evans and Morgans were riding 
away, as fast as the rough by-lanes would let them, along the 
fresh coast of the bay, steering carefully clear of Northam 
town on the one hand, and on the other, of Portledge, where 
dwelt that most Protestant justice of the peace, Mr. Coffin. And 
it was well for them that neither Amyas Leigh, or indeed any 
other loyal Englishman, was by when they entered, as they 
shortly did, the lonely woods which stretch along the southern 
wall of the bay. For there Eustace Leigh pulled up short ; 
and both he and his groom, leaping from their horses, knelt 
down humbly in the wet grass, and implored the blessing of 
the two valiant gentlemen of Wales, who, having graciously 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


59 


bestowed it with three .fingers apiece, became thenceforth no 
longer Morgan Evans and Evan Morgans, Welshmen and 
gentlemen ; but Father Parsons and Father Campian, Jesuits, 
and gentlemen in no sense in which that word is applied in 
this book. 

After a few minutes, the party were again in motion, ambling 
steadily and cautiously along the high table-land, toward Moor- 
winstow in the west; while beneath them on the right, at the 
mouth of the rich-wooded glens, opened vistas of the bright blue 
bay, and beyond it the sand hills of Braunton, and the ragged 
rocks of Morte ; while far away to the north and west the 
lonely isle of Lundy hung like a soft gray cloud. 

But they were not destined to reach their point as peaceably 
as they could have wished. For just as they got opposite 
Clovelly Dike, the huge old Roman encampment which stands 
about mid-way in their journey, they heard a halloo from the 
valley below, answered by a fainter one far ahead. At which, 
like a couple of rogues (as indeed they were). Father Campian 
and Father Parsons looked at each other, and then both stared 
round at the wild, desolate, open pasture (for the country was 
then all unenclosed), and the great dark furze-grown bank 
above their heads ; and Campian remarked gently to Parsons, 
that this was a very dreary spot, and likely enough for robbers. 

‘ A likelier spot for us, Father,’ said Eustace, punning. 
‘ The old Romans knew what they were about when they put 
their legions up aloft b ye to overlook land and sea for miles 
away ; and we may thank them some day for their leavings. 
The banks are all sound ; there is plenty of good water inside ; 
and ’ (added he in Latin) ‘ in case our Spanish friends — you 
understand ? ’ 

‘ Paiica verha^ my son ! ’ said Campian : but as he spoke, up 
from the ditch close beside him, as if rising out of the earth, 
burst through the furze-bushes an armed cavalier. 

‘ Pardon, gentlemen ! ’ shouted he, as the Jesuit and his horse 
recoiled against the groom. ‘ Stand, for your lives ! ’ 

^ Mater ccB/orwm /’ moaned Campian: while Parsons, who, 
as all the world knows, was a blustering bully enough (at 
least with his tongue), asked : ‘What a murrain right had he 
to stop honest folks on the Queen’s highway ? ’ confirming the 
same with a mighty oath, which he set down as peccatum veniale, 
on account of the sudden necessity ; nay, indeed, yraws pia, as 
proper to support the character of that valiant gentleman of 
Wales, Mr. Evan Morgans. But the horseman, taking no 
notice of his hint, dashed across the nose of Eustace Leigh’s 
horse, with a ‘ Hillo, old lad ! where ridest so early ? ’ and 


60 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


peering down for a moment into the ruts of the narrow track- 
way, struck spurs into his horse, shoutmg, ‘ A fresh slot! right 
away for Hartland ! Forward, gentlemen, all ! follow, follow, 
follow ! ’ 

‘ Who is this roysterer ? ’ asked Parsons, loftily. 

‘ Will Cary, of Clovelly ; an awful heretic : and here come 
more behind.’ 

And as he spoke, four or five more mounted gallants plunged 
in and out of the great dikes, and thundered on behind the 
party ; whose horses, quite understanding what game was up, 
burst into full gallop, neighing and squealing; and in another 
minute the hapless Jesuits were hurling along over moor and 
moss after a ‘ hart of grease.’ 

Parsons, who, though a vulgar bully, was no coward, sup- 
ported the character of Mr. Evan Morgans well enough ; and 
he would have really enjoyed himself, had he not been in 
agonies of fear lest those precious saddle-bags in front of him 
should break from their lashings, and rolling to the earth, ex- 
pose to the hoofs of heretic horses, perhaps to the gaze of 
heretic eyes, such a cargo of bulls, dispensations, secret cor- 
respondences, seditious tracts, and so forth, that at the very 
thought of their being seen, his head felt loose upon his 
shoulders. But the future martyr behind him, Mr. Morgan 
Evans, gave himself up at once to abject despair, and as he 
bumped and rolled along, sought vainly for comfort in con- 
fessional ejaculations in the Latin tongue. 

‘ Mater intemerala ! Eripe me e — Ugh ! I am down ! 
Adkcesit pavunento venter! — No! I am not 1 Et dilectum 
tuum e potestate canis — Ah ! Audisti me inter cornua uni- 
cornium ! — Put this, too, down in — ugh ! — thy account in 
favor of my poor — oh, sharpness of this saddle ! Oh, whither, 
barbarous islanders 1 ’ 

Now riding on his quarter, not in the rough track-way like a 
cockney, but through the soft heather like a sportsman, was 
a very gallant knight whom we all know well by this time, 
Richard Grenvile by name ; who had made Mr. Cary and the 
rest his guests the night before, and then ridden out with them 
at five o’clock that morning, after the wholesome early ways 
of the time, to rouse a well known stag in the glens at Buckish, 
by help of Mr. Coffin’s hounds from Portledge. Who being as 
good a Latiner as Campian’s self, and overhearing both the 
scraps of psalm and the ‘ barbarous islanders,’ pushed his horse 
alongside of Mr. Eustace Leigh, and at the first check said, 
with two low bows toward the two strangers, — 

‘ I hope Mr. Leigh will do me the honor of introducing me to 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


61 


his guests. I should be sorry, and Mr. Cary also, that any 
gentle strangers should become neighbors of ours, even for a 
day, without our knowing who they are who honor our Western 
Thule with a visit ; and showing them ourselves all due requital 
for the compliment of their presence.’ 

After which, the only thing which poor Eustace could do 
(especially as it was spoken loud enough for all bystanders), 
was to introduce in due form Mr. Evan Morgans and Mr. Mor- 
gan Evans, who, hearing the name, and what was worse, seeing 
the terrible face with its quiet searching eye, felt like a brace 
of partridge-poults* cowering in the stubble, with a hawk hang- 
ing ten feet over their heads. 

‘ Gentlemen,’ said Sir Richard blandly, cap in hand ; ‘ 1 fear 
that your mails must have been somewhat in your way in this 
unexpected gallop. If you will permit my groom, who is be- 
hind, to disencumber you of them and carry them to Chapel, 
you will both confer an honor on me, and be enabled your- 
selves to see the mort more pleasantly.’ 

A twinkle of fun, in spite of all his efforts, played about good 
Sir Richard’s eye as he gave this searching hint. The two 
Welsh gentlemen stammered out clumsy thanks ; and pleading 
great haste and fatigue from a long journey, contrived to fall 
to the rear, and vanish with their guides, as soon as the slot 
had been recovered. 

‘ Will !’ said Sir Richard, pushing alongside of young Cary. 

‘Your worship ’ 

‘ Jesuits, Will ! ’ 

‘ May the father of lies fly away with them over the nearest 
cliff!’ 

‘ He will not do that while this Irish trouble is about. Those 
fellows are come to practise here for Saunders and Desmond.’ 

‘ Perhaps they have a consecrated banner in their bag, the 
scoundrels 1 Shall I and young Coffin on and stop them ? 
Hard if the honest men may not rob the thieves once in a 
way.’ 

‘ No ; give the devil rope, and he will hang himself. Keep 
thy tongue at home, and thine eyes too. Will.’ 

‘ How then ? ’ 

‘ Let Clovelly beach be watched night and day like any 
mouse-hole. No one can land round Harty Point with these 
south-westers. Stop every fellow who has the ghost of an 
Irish brogue, come he in or go he out, and send him over to 
me.’ 

‘ Some one should guard Bude Haven, Sir.’ 

6 


62 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


‘ Leave that to me. Now then, forward, gentlemen all, or 
the stag will take the sea at the Abbey.’ 

And on they crashed down the Hartland glens, through the 
oak-scrub and the great crown-ferns; and the baying of the 
slow-hound and the tantaras of the horn -died away further and 
fainter toward the blue Atlantic, while the conspirators, with 
lightened hearts, pricked fast across Bursdon upon their evil 
errand. ’ But Eustace Leigh had other thoughts and other cares 
than the safety of his father’s two mysterious guests, important 
as that was in his eyes ; for he was one of the many who had 
drunk in sweet poison (though in his case it could hardly be 
called sweet) from the magic glances of the Rose of Torridge. 
He had seen her in the town, and for the first time in his life 
fallen utterly in love ; and now that she had come down close to 
his father’s house, he looked on her as a lamb fallen unawares 
into the jaws of the greedy wolf, which he felt himself to be. 
For Eustace’s love had little or nothing of chivalry, self-sacri- 
fice, or purity in it ; those were virtues which were not taught 
at Rheims. Careful as the Jesuits were over the practical 
morality of their pupils, their severe restraint had little effect 
in producing real habits of self-control. What little Eustace 
had learnt of women from them, was as base and vulgar as the 
rest of their teaching. What could it be else, if instilled by 
men educated in the schools of Italy and France, in the age 
which produced the foul novels of Cinlhio and Bandello, and 
compelled Rabelais, in order to escape the rack and stake, to 
hide the light of his great wisdom, not beneath a bushel, but 
beneath a dunghill ; the age in which the Romish Church had 
made marriage a legalized tyranny, and the laity, by a natural 
and pardonable revulsion, had exalted adultery into a virtue 
and a science ? That all love was lust ; that all women had 
their price ; that profligacy, though an ecclesiastical sin, was 
so pardonable, if not necessary, as to be hardly a moral sin, 
were notions which Eustace must needs have gathered from 
the hints of his preceptors ; for their written works bear to this 
day fullest and foulest testimony that such was their opinion ; 
and that their conception of the relation of the sexes was really 
not a whit higher than that of the profligate laity who confessed 
to them. He longed to marry Rose Salterne, with a wild 
selfish fury ; but only that he might be able to claim her as his 
own property, and keep all others from her. Of her as a co- 
equal and ennobling helpmate; as one in whose honor, glory, 
growth of heart and soul, his own were inextricably wrapt up, 
he had never dreamed. Marriage would prevent God from 
beinfif ansry with that, with which otherwise He might be 


TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES. 


63 


angry ; and therefore the sanction of the Church was the more 
‘ probable and safe ’ course. But as yet his suit was in very 
embryo. He could not even tell whether Rose knew of his 
love ; and he wasted miserable hours in maddening thoughts, 
and tost all night upon his sleepless bed, and rose next morning 
fierce and pale, to invent fresh excuses for going over to her 
uncle’s house, and lingering about the fruit which he dared not 
snatch. 


64 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE. 

‘ I could not love thee, dear, so much, 

Loved I not honor more.’ — Lovelace. 


And what all this while has become of the fair breaker of so 
many hearts, to whom I have not yet introduced my readers ? 

She was sitting in the little farm-house beside the mill, buried 
in the green depths of the Valley of Combe, half-way between 
Stow and Chnpel, sulking as much as her sweet nature would 
let her, at being thus shut out from all the grand doings at 
Bideford, and forced to keep a Martinmas Lent in that far 
western glen. So lonely was she, in fact, that though she re- 
garded Eustace Leigh with somewhat of aversion, and (being 
a good Protestant) with a great deal of suspicion, she could not 
find it in her heart to avoid a chat with him whenever he came 
down to the farm and to its mill, which he contrived to do, on 
I know not what would-be errand, almost every day. , Her 
uncle and aunt at first looked stiff enough at these visits, and 
the latter took care always to make a third in every conversa- 
tion ; but still Mr. Leigh was a gentleman’s son, and it would 
not do to be rude to a neighboring squire and a good customer ; 
and Rose was the rich man’s daughter, and they poor cousins, 
so it would not do either to. quarrel with her; and besides, the 
pretty maid, half by wilfulness and half by her sweet winning 
tricks, generally contrived to get her own way wheresoever she 
went ; and she herself had been wise enough to beg her aunt 
never to leave them alone, — for she ‘ could not a-bear the 
sight of Mr. Eustace, only she must have some one to talk 
with down here.’ On which her aunt considered, that she 
herself was but a simple country woman ; and that townfolks’ 
ways of course must be very different from hers ; and that 
people knew their own business best; and so forth, and let 
things go on their own way. Eustace, in the meanwhile, who 
knew well that the difference in creed between him and Rose 
was likely to be the very hardest obstacle in the way of his 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


65 


love, took care to keep his private opinions well in the back- 
ground ; and instead of trying to convert the folk at the mill, 
daily bought milk or flour from them, and gave it away to the 
old women in Moorwinstow (who agreed that after all, for a 
Papist, he was a godly young man enough) ; and at last, having 
taken counsel with Campian and Parsons on certain political 
plots then on foot, came with them to the conclusion that they 
would all three go to church the next Sunday: — where 
Messrs. Evan Morgans and Morgan Evans, having crammed 
up the rubrics beforehand, behaved themselves in a most ortho- 
dox and unexceptionable manner ; as did also poor Eustace, 
to the great wonder of all good folks, and then went home 
flattering himself that he had taken in parson, clerk, and peo- 
ple ; not knowing in his simple unsimplicity, and cunning fool- 
ishness, that each good wife in the parish was saying to the 
other, ‘ He turned Protestant ? The devil turned monk ! He’s 
only after Mistress Salterne, the young hypocrite.’ 

But if the two Jesuits found it expedient,' for the holy cause 
in which they were embarked, to reconcile themselves out- 
wardly to the powers that were, they were none the less busy 
in pp'ivate in plotting their overthrow. 

Ever since April last they had been playing at hide-and-seek 
through the length and breadth of England, and now they were 
only lying quiet till expected news from Ireland should give 
them their cue, and a great ‘ rising of the west’ should sweep 
from her throne that stiffnecked, persecuting, excommunicate, 
reprobate, illegitimate, and profligate usurper who falsely called 
herself the Queen of England. 

For they had as stoutly persuaded themselves in those days, 
as they have in these (with a real Baconian contempt of the 
results of a sensible experience), that the heart of England 
was really with them, and that the British Nation was on the 
point of returning to the bosom of the Catholic Church, and 
giving up Elizabeth to be led in chains to the feet of the right- 
ful Lord of Creation, the Old Man of the Seven Hills. And 
this fair hope, which has been skipping just in front of them for 
centuries, always a step further off, like the place where the 
rainbow touches the ground, they used to announce at times, in 
language which terrified old Mr. Leigh. One day, indeed, as 
Eustace entered his father’s private room, after his usual visit 
to the mill, he could hear voices high in dispute ; Parsons, as 
usual, blustering ; Mr. Leigh peevishly deprecating ; and Cam- 
pian, who was really the sweetest-natured of men, trying to 
pour oil on the troubled waters. Whereat Eustace (for the 
good of the cause, of course) stopped outside and listened. 


66 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


‘ My excellent Sir,’ said Mr. Leigh, ‘ does not your very 
presence here show how I am affected toward the holy cause of 
the Catholic faith ? But I cannot in the meanwhile forget that 
I am an Englishman.’ 

‘ And what is England ? ’ said Parsons. ‘ A heretic and 
schismatic Babylon, whereof it is written, “ Come out of her, 
my people, lest you be partaker of her plagues.” Yea, what is 
a country .? An arbitrary division of territory by the princes 
of this world, who are nought, and come to nought. They are 
created by the people’s will ; their existence depends on the 
sanction of him to whom all power is given in heaven and 
earth — our Holy Father the Pope. Take away the latter, and 
what is a king ? — the people who have made him may un- 
make him.’ 

‘ My dear Sir, recollect that I have sworn allegiance to 
Queen Elizabeth ! ’ 

‘ Yes, Sir, you have. Sir ; and as I have shown at large in 
my writings, you were absolved from that allegiance from the 
moment that the bull of Pius the Fifth declared her a heretic and 
excommunicate, and thereby to have forfeited all dominion what- 
soever. I tell you. Sir, what I thought you should have known 
already, that since the year 1569, -England has had no Queen, no 
magistrates, no laws, no lawful autlrOrity whatsoever ; and that 
to own allegiance to any English magistrate. Sir, or to plead in 
an English court of law, is to disobey the apostolic precept, 
“ How dare you go to law before the unbelievers ? ” I tell you. 
Sir, rebellion is now not merely permitted, it is a duty.’ 

‘ Take care. Sir ; for God’s sake, take care ! ’ said Mr. 
Leigh. ‘ Right or wrong, I cannot have such language used 
in my house. For the sake of my wife and children, I can- 
not ! ’ 

‘ My dear brother Parsons, deM more gently with the flock,’ 
interposed Campian. ‘ Your opinion, though probable, as I 
well know, in the eyes of most of our order, is hardly safe 
enough here ; the opposite is at least so safe that Mr. Leigh 
may well excuse his conscience for accepting it. After all, are 
we not sent hither to proclaim this very thing, and to relieve the 
souls of all good Catholics from a burden which has seemed to 
them too heavy ? ’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Parsons half sulkily, ‘ to allow all Balaams who 
will to sacrifice to Baal, while they call themseves by the name 
of the Lord.’ 

‘ My dear brother, have I not often reminded you that Naa- 
man was allowed to bow himself in the house of Rimmon ? 
And can we therefore complain of the office to which the Holy 


BEING CEOST IN LOVE. 


67 


Father has appointed us, to declare to such as Mr. Leigh his 
especial grace, by which the bull of Pius the Fifth (on whose 
soul God have mercy !) shall henceforth bind the Queen and 
the heretics only ; but in no ways the Catholics, at least as 
long as the present tyranny prevents the pious purposes of the 
bull?’ 

‘‘Be it so. Sir ; be it so. Only observe this, Mr. Leigh, that 
our brother Campian confesses this to be a tyranny. Observe, 
Sir, that the bull does still bind the so-called Queen, and that 
she and her magistrates are still none the less usurpers, non- 
entities, and shadows of a shade. And observe this. Sir, that 
when that which is lawful is excused to the weak, it remains 
no less lawful to the strong. The seven thousand who had not 
bowed the knee to Baal did not slay his priests ; but Elijah did, 
and won to himself a good reward. And if the rest of the 
children of Israel sinned not in not slaying Eglon, yet Ehud’s 
deed was none the less justified by all laws human and divine.’ 

‘ For heaven’s sake, do not talk so. Sir ! or I must leave the 
roorrk What have I to do with Ehud and Eglon, and slaugh- 
ters and tyrannies ? Our Queen is a very good Queen, if 
Heaven would but grant her repentance, and turn her to the 
true faith. I have never been troubled about religion, nor any 
one else that I know of in the west country.’ 

‘ You forgot Mr. Trudgeon of Launceston*, father, and poor 
Father Mayne,’ interposed Eustace, who had by this time slip- 
ped in ; and Campian added softly, — 

‘ Yes, your West of England has also been honored by its 
martyrs, as well as my London by the precious blood of 
Story.’ 

‘ What, young malapert ? ’ cried poor Leigh facing round 
upon his son, glad to find any one on whom he might vent his 
ill-humor ; ‘ are you, too, against me, with a murrain on you ? 
And pray, what the devil brought Cuthbert Mayne to the gal- 
lows, and turned Mr. Trudgeon (he was always a foolish hot- 
head) out of house and home, but^ just such treasonable talk as 
Mr. Parsons must needs hold in my house, to make a beggar 
of me and my children, as he will before he has done ? ’ 

‘ The blessed Virgin forbid ! ’ said Campian. 

‘ The blessed Virgin forbid ? But you must help her to for- 
bid it, Mr. Campian. We should never have had the law of 
1571, against bulls, and Agnus Deis, and blessed grains, if the 
Pope’s bull of 1569 had not made them matter of treason, by 
preventing a poor creature’s saving his soul in the true Church 
without putting his neck into a halter by denying the Queen’s 
authority.’ 


68 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


‘ What, Sir ? ’ almost roared Parsons ; ‘ do you dare to speak 
evil of the edicts of the Vicar of Christ ? ’ 

‘ I ? No. I didn’t. Who says I did ? All I meant was, I 
am sure — Mr. Campian, you are a reasonable man, speak for 
me.’ 

‘ Mr. Leigh only meant, I am sure, that the Holy Father’s 
prudent intentions have been so far defeated by the perverse- 
ness and invincible misunderstanding of the heretics, that that 
which was in itself meant for the good of the oppressed Eng- 
lish Catholics has been perverted to their harm.’ 

‘ And thus. Reverend Sir,’ said Eustace, glad to get into his 
father’s good graces again, ‘ my father attaches blame not to 
the Pope — Heayen forbid ! — but to the pra,vity of his ene- 
mies.’ 

‘ And it is for this very reason,’ said Campian, ‘ that we have 
brought with us the present merciful explanation of the bull.’ 

‘ Pll tell you what, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Leigh, who, like 
other weak men, grew in valor as his opponent seemed inclined 
to make peace, ‘ I don’t think the declaration was needed. 
After the new law of'1571 was made, it was never put in force 
till Mayne and Trudgeon made fools of themselves, and that 
was full six years. There were a few offenders, they say, who 
were brought up and admonished, and let go ; but even that 
did not happen down here, and need not happen now, unless 
you put my son here (for you shall never put me, 1 warrant 
you) upon some deed which had better be left alone, and so 
bring us all to shame.’ 

‘ Your son. Sir, if not openly vowed to God, has, I hope, a 
due sense of that inward vocation which we have seen in him, 
and reverences his spiritual fathers too well to listen to the 
temptations of his earthly father.’ 

‘ What, Sir, will you teach my son to disobey me ’ 

‘ Your son, is ours also, Sir. This is strange language in 
one who owes a debt to the Church, which it was charitably 
fancied he meant to pay in the person of his child.’ 

These last Words touched poor Mr. Leigh in a sore point, 
and breaking all bounds, he swore roundly at Parsons who 
stood foaming with rage. 

‘ A plague upon you. Sir, and a black assizes for you, for 
you will come to the gallows yet.! Do you mean to taunt me 
in my own house with that Hartland land ? You had better go 
back and ask those who sent you, where the dispensation to 
hold the land is which they promised to get me years ago, and 
have gone on putting me off, till they have got my money, 
and my son, and my conscience, and I vow before all the 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


69 


saints, seem now to want my head over and above. God help 
me ! ’ — and the poor man’s eyes fairly filled with tears. 

Now was Eustace’s turn to be roused ; for, after all, he was 
an Englishman and a gentleman ; and he said kindly enough, 
but firmly, — 

‘ Courage, my dearest father. Remember that I am still 
your son, and not a Jesuit yet; and whether I ever become one, 
I promise you, will depend mainly on the treatment which 
you meet with at the hands of these reverend gentlemen, for 
whom I, as having brought them hither, must consider myself 
as surety to you.’ 

If a powder-barrel had exploded in the Jesuits’ faces, they 
could not have been more amazed. Campian looked blank at 
Parsons, and Parsons at Campian ; till the stouter-hearted of the 
two, recovering his breath at last — 

‘ Sir ! Do you know. Sir, the curse pronounced on those 
who, after putting their hand to the plough, look back .? ’ 

Eustace was one of those impulsive men, with a lack of 
moral courage, who dare raise the devil, but never dare fight 
him after he has been raised ; and he now tried to* pass off his' 
speech by winking and making signs in the direction of his 
father, as much as to say that he was only trying to quiet the old 
man’s fears. But Campian was too frightened. Parsons too 
angry, to take his hints : and he had to carry his part through. 

‘ All I read is. Father Parsons, that such are not fit for the 
kingdom of God ; of which high honor I have for some time 
past felt myself unworthy. I have much doubt just now as to 
my vocation ; and in the meanwhile have not forgotten that I 
am a citizen of a free country.’ And so saying, he took his 
father’s arm, and walked out. 

His last words had hit the Jesuits hard. They had put the 
poor cobweb-spinners in mind of the humiliating fact, which 
they have had thrust on them daily from that time till now, and 
yet have never learnt the lesson, that all their scholastic cun- 
ning, plotting, intriguing, bulls, pardons, indulgences, and the 
rest of it, are, on this side the Channel, a mere enchanter’s 
cloud-castle and Fata Morgana, which vanishes into empty air 
by one touch of that magic wand, the constable’s staff. ‘ A 
citizen of a free country ! ’ — there was the rub ; and they 
looked at each other in more utter perplexity than ever. At 
last Parsons spoke. 

‘There’s a woman in the^ wind. I’ll lay my life on it. I 
saw him blush up crimson yesterday, when his mother asked 
him whether some Rose Salterne or other was still in the neigh- 
borhood.’ 


70 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


‘ A woman ? Well, the spirit may be willing, though the 
flesh is weak. We will inquire into this: The youth may do 
us good service as a layman ; and if anything should happen to 
his elder'brother (whom the saints protect!) he is heir to some 
wealth. In the meanwhile, our dear brother Parsons will per- 
haps see the expediency of altering our tactics somewhat while 
we are here.’ 

And thereupon a long conversation began between the two, 
who had been sent together, after the wise method of their or- 
der, in obedience to the precept, ‘ Two are better than one,’ 
in order that Campian might restrain Parsons’s vehemence, and 
Parsons spur on Campian’s gentleness, and so each act as the 
supplement of the other, and each also, it must be confessed, 
give advice pretty nearly contradictory to his fellow’s if occa- 
sion should require, ‘ without the danger,’ as their writers have 
it, ‘ of seeming changeable and inconsistent.’ 

The upshot of this conversation was, that in a day or two 
(during which time Mr. Leigh and Eustace also had made the 
amende honorable^ and matters went smoothly enough) Father 
Campian asked Father Francis, the household chaplain, to allow 
him, as an especial favor, to hear Eustace’s usual confession 
on the ensuing Friday. 

Poor Father Francis dared not refuse so great a man ; and 
assented with an inward groan, knowing well that the intent 
was to worm out some family secrets, whereby his power would 
be diminished, and the Jesuit’s increased. For the regular 
priesthood and the Jesuits throughout England were towards 
each other in a state of armed neutrality, which wanted but lit- 
tle at any moment to become open war, as it did in James the 
First’s time, when those meek missionaries, by their gentle moral 
tortures, literally hunted to death the poor Popish bishop of 
Hippopotamus (that is to say, London) for the time being. 

However, Campian heard Eustace’s confession ; and by put- 
ting to him such questions as may be easily conceived by those 
who know anything about the confessional, discovered satisfac- 
torily enough, that he was what Campian would have called ‘ in 
love ; ’ though I should question much the propriety of the term 
as applied to any facts which poor prurient Campian discov- 
ered, or indeed knew how to discover, seeing that a swine has 
no eye for pearls. But he had found out enough ; he smiled, 
and set to work next vigorously to discover who the lady might 
be. 

If he had frankly said to Eustace, ‘ I feel for you ; and if 
your desires are reasonable, or lawful, or possible, I will help 
you with all my heart and soul,’ he might have had the young 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


71 


man’s secret heart, and saved himself an hour’s trouble ; but, 
of course, he took instinctively the crooked and suspicious 
method, expected to find the case the worst possible, — as a 
man was bound to do who had been trained to take the lowest 
possible view of human nature, and to consider the basest 
motives as the mainspring of all human action, — and began 
his moral torture accordingly by a series of delicate questions, 
which poor Eustace dodged in every possible way, though he 
knew that the good father was too cunning for him, and that he 
must give in at last. Nevertheless, like- a rabbit who runs 
squealing round and round before the weasel, into whose jaws 
it knows that it must jump at last by force of fascination, he 
parried and parried, and pretended to be stupid, and surprised, 
and honorably scrupulous, and even angry ; while every ques- 
tion as to her being married or single. Catholic or heretic, 
English or foreign, brought his tormentor a step nearer the 
goal. At last, when Carnpian, finding the business, not such a 
very bad one, had asked something about her worldly wealth, 
Eustace saw a door of escape, and sprang at it. 

‘ Even if she be a heretic, she is heiress to one of the wealth- 
iest merchants in Devon.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ said Carnpian, thoughtfully. ‘ And she is but eighteen, 
you say ? ’ 

‘ Only eighteen.’ 

‘ Ah ! well, my son, there is time. She may be reconciled 
to the Church : or you may change.’ 

‘ I shall die first.’ 

‘ Ah, poor lad ! Well ; she may be reconciled, and her 
wealth may be of use to the cause of heaven.’ 

‘ And it shall be of use. Only absolve me, and let me be at 
peace. Let me have but her,’ he cried piteously. ‘ I do not 
want her wealth, — not I ! Let me have but her, and that but 
for one year, one month, one day ! — and all the rest, — money, 
fame, talents, yea, my life itself, hers if it be needed, — are at 
the service of Holy Church. Ay, I shall glory in showing my 
devotion by some special sacrifice, — some desperate deed. 
Prove me now, and see what there is I will not do ! ’ 

And so Eustace was absolved ; after which Carnpian 
added, — 

‘ This is indeed well, my son ; for there is a thing to be done 
now, but it may be at the risk of life.’ 

‘ Prove me ! ’ cried Eustace impatiently. 

‘ Here is a letter which was brought me last night ; no mat- 
ter from whence ; you can understand it better than 1, and I 


72 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


longed to have shown it you, but that 1 feared my son had be- 
come ’ 

‘ You feared wrongly, then, my dear Father Campian.’ 

So Campian translated to him the cipher of the letter. 

‘ This to Evan Morgans, gentleman, at Mr. Leigh’s house in 
Moorwinstow, Devonshire. News may be had by one who will 
go to the shore of Clovelly, any evening after the 25th of 
November, at dead-low tide, and there watch for a boat, rowed 
by one with a red beard, and a Portugal by his speech. If he 
be asked, “ How many ? ” he will answer, “ Eight hundred and 
one.” Take his letters and read them. If the shore be watch- 
ed, let him who comes show a light three times in a safe place 
under the cliff above the town ; below is dangerous landing. 
Farewell, and expect great things ! ’ 

‘I will go,’ said Eustace; ‘ to-morrow is the 25th, and I 
know a sure and easy place. Your friend seems to know these 
shores well.’ 

‘ Ah ! what is it we do not know .? ’ said Campian, with a 
mysterious smile. ‘ And now ’ 

‘ And now, to prove to you how I trust to you, you shall come 
with me, and see this — the lady of whom I spoke, and judge 
for yourself whether my fault is not a venial one.’ 

‘ Ah, my son, have I not absolved you already ? What have 
1 to do with fair faces.? Nevertheless, I will come, both to 
show you that I trust you, and it may be to help towards the 
reclaiming a heretic, and saving a lost soul : who knows .? ’ 

So the two set out together ; and, as it was appointed, they 
had just got to the top of the hill between Chapel and Stow mill, 
when up the lane came none other than Mistress Rose Salterne 
herself, in all the glories of a new scarlet hood, from under 
which her large, dark, languid eyes gleamed soft lightnings 
through poor Eustace’s heart and marrow. Up to them she 
tripped on delicate ankles and tiny feet, tall, lithe, and graceful, 
a true west-country lass ; and as she passed them with a pretty 
blush and courtesy, even Campian looked back at the fair inno- 
cent creature, whose long dark curls, after the then country 
fashion, rolled down from beneath the hood below her waist, 
entangling the soul of Eustace Leigh within their glossy nets. 

‘There ! ’ whispered he, trembling from head to foot. ‘ Can 
you excuse me now ,? ’ 

‘ I had excused you long ago,’ said the kind-hearted father. 
‘ Alas, that so much fair red and white should have been created 
only as a feast for worms ! ’ 

‘ A feast for gods, you mean ! ’ cried Eustace, on whos'e 
common sense the naive absurdity of the last speech struck 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


73 


keenly ; and then, as if to escape the scolding which he 
deserved for his heathenry, — 

‘ Will you let me return for a monTent? I will follow you: 
let me go ! ’ 

Campian saw that it was of no use to say no, and nodded. 
Eustace darted from his side, and running across a field, met 
Rose full at the next turn of the road. 

She started, and gave a pretty little shriek. 

‘ Mr. Leigh ! I thought you had gone forward.’ 

‘ I came back to speak to you, Rose — Mistress Salterne, I 
mean.’ 

‘ To me ? ’ 

‘ To you T must speak, tell you all, or die ! ’ And he pressed 
up close to her. She shrank back somewhat frightened. 

‘ Do not stir ; do not go, I implore you ! Rose, only hear 
me ! ’ And fiercely and passionately seizing her by the hand, 
he poured out the whole story of his love, heaping her with 
every fantastic epithet of admiration which he could devise. 

There was little, perhaps, of all his words which Rose had 
not heard many a time before ; but there was a quiver in his 
voice, and a fire in his eye, from which she shrank by instinct. 

‘ Let me go ! ’ she said ; ‘ you are too rough. Sir ! ’ 

‘ Ay ! ’ he said, seizing now both her hands, ‘ rougher, per- 
haps, than the gay gallants of Bideford, who serenade you, and 
write sonnets to you, and send you posies. Rougher, but more 
loving. Rose! Do not turn away ! I shall die if you take your 
eyes off* me I Tell me, — tell me, now here — this moment — 
before we part, — if I may love you ? ’ 

‘ Go away ! ’ she answered, struggling, and bursting into 
tears. ‘ This is too rude. If I am but a merchant’s daughter, 
I am God’s child. Remember that I am alone. Leave me ; 
go ! or I will call for help ! ’ 

Eustace hud heard or read somewhere, that such expressions 
in a woman’s mouth were mere famous de parler^ and on the 
whole signs that she had no objection to be alone, and dil not 
intend to call for help ; and he only grasped her hands the 
more fiercely, and looked into her face with keen and hungry 
eyes ; but she was in earnest, nevertheless, and a loud shriek 
made him aware that, if he ‘wished to save his own good name, 
he must go: but there was one question, for an answer to which 
he would risk his very life. 

‘Yes, proud woman I I thought so 1 Some of those gay 
gallants has been beforehand with me. Tell me who ’ 

But she broke from him, and passed him, and fled down the 
lane. 


7 


74 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


‘Mark it!’ cried he, after her.- ‘You shall rue the, day 
when you despised Eustace Leigh 1 Mark it, proud beauty I ’ 
And he turned back to join Campian, who stood in some trepi- 
dation. 

‘ You have not hurt the- maiden, my son .? I thought I heard 
a scream.’ 

‘ Hurt her ! No. Would God that she were dead, never- 
theless, and I by her! Say no more to me, father. We will 
home.’ Even Campian knew enough of the world to guess 
what had-happened, and they both hurried home in silence. 

And so Eustace Leigh played his move, and lost it. 

Pqor little Rose, having run nearly to Chapel, stopped for 
very shame, and walked quietly by the cottages which stood 
opposite the gate, and then turned up the lane towards Moor- 
winstow village, whither she was bound. But on second 
thoughts, she felt herself so ‘ red and flustered,’ that she was 
afraid of going into the village, for fear (as she said to herself) 
of making people talk, and so, turning into a by-path, struck 
away toward the cliffs, to cool her blushes in the sea-breeze. 
And there finding a quiet grassy nook beneath the crest of the 
rocks, she sat down on the turf, and fell into a great medita- 
tion. 

Rose Salterne was a thorough specimen of a West-coast' 
maiden, full of passionate impulsive affections, and wild dreamy 
imaginations, a fit subject, as the North Devon women are still, 
for all romantic and gentle superstitions. Left early without a 
mother’s care, she had fed her fancy upon the legends and 
ballads of her native land, till she believed — what did she not 
believe ? — of mermaids and pixies, charms and witches, dreams 
and omens, and all that- world of magic in which most of the 
countrywomen, and countrynien too, believed firmly enough but 
twenty years ago. Then her father’s house was seldom without 
some merchant, or sea-captain from foreign parts, who, like 
Othello, had his tales of — 

* Antres vast, and deserts idle, 

Of rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads reach heaven.* 

And, — 

* And of the cannibals that each other eat, ’ 

The anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
I)o grow beneath their shoulders.* 

All which tales she, like Desdemona, devoured with greedy ears, 
whenever she could ‘ the house affairs with haste despatch,’ 
And when these failed, there was still boundless store of won- 
ders open to her in old romances which were then to be found 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


75 


in every English house of the better class. The Legend of 
King Arthur, Florice and Blancheflour, Sir Ysumbras, Sir Guy 
of Warwick, Palamon and Arcite, and the Romaunt of the 
Rose, were with her text-books and canonical authorities. And 
lucky it was, perhaps, for her, that Sidney’s Arcadia was still in 
petto, or Mr. Frank (who ha’d already seen the first book or two 
in manuscript, and extolled it above all books past, present, or 
to come) would have surely brought a copy down for Rose,^and 
thereby have turned her poor little ’ flighty brains upside down 
for ever. And with her head full of these,* it was no wonder if 
she had likened herself of late more than once to some of those 
peerless princesses of old, for whose fair hand paladins and 
kaisers thundered against each other in tilted field ; and perhaps 
she would not have been sorry (provided, of course, no one was 
killed) if duels and passages of arms in honor of her, as her 
father reasonably dreaded, had actually taken place. 

For Rose was not only well aware that she was wooed, but 
found the said wooing (and little shame to her) a very pleasant 
process. Not that she had any wish to break hearts : she did 
not break her heart for any of her admirers, and why should 
they break theirs for her ? They were all very charming, each 
in their way (the gentlemen at least ; for she had long since 
learnt to turn up her nose at merchants and burghers) ; but one 
of them was not so very much better than the other. 

Of course, Mr. Frank Leigh was 'the most charming ; but 
then, as a courtier and squire of dames, he had never given her 
a sign of real love, nothing but sonnets and compliments, and 
there was no trusting such things from a gallant, who was said 
(though, by-the-by, most scandalously) to have a lady-love at 
Milan, and another at Vienna, and iralf-a-dozen in the Court, 
and half-a-dozen more in the City. 

And very charming was Mr. William Cary, with his quips 
and his jests, and his galliards and lavoltas ; over and above his 
rich inheritance ; but then, charming also Mr. Coffin, of Port- 
ledge, though he were a little proud and stately ; but which of 
the two should she choose ? It would be very pleasant to be 
mistress of Clovelly Court ; but just as pleasant to find herself 
lady of Portledge, where the Coffins had lived ever since Noah’s 
flood (if, indeed, they had not merely returned thither after that 
temporary displacement), and to bring her wealth into a family 
which was as proud of its antiquity as any nobleman in Devon, 
and might have made a fourth to that famous trio of Devonshire 
C’s, of which it is written, — 

‘ Crocker, Cruwys, and Copplestone, 

When the Conqueror came were all at home.’ 


76 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


And Mr. Hugh Fortescue, too, — people said that he was 
certain to become a great soldier ; perhaps as great as his 
brother Arthur, — and that would be pleasant enough, too, 
though he was' but the younger son of an innumerable family : 
but then, so was Amyas Leigh. Ah, poor Amyas ! Her girl’s 
fancy for him had vanished, or rather, perhaps, it was very 
much what it always had been, only that four or five more 
girl’s fancies beside it had entered in, and kept it in due subjec- 
tion. But still she could not help thinking a good deal about 
him, and his voyage, and the reports of his great strength, and 
beauty, and valor, which had already reached her in 'that out- 
of-the-way 9orner ; and though she was not in the least in love 
with him, she could not help hoping that he had at least (to put 
her pretty little thought in the mildest shape) not altogether 
forgotten her ; and was hungering too, with all her fancy, to 
give him no peace till he had told her all the wonderful things 
which he had seen and done in this ever-memorable voyage. 
So that altogether, it was no wonder, if in her last night’s 
dreams, the figure of Amyas had been even more forward and 
troublesome than that of Frank or the rest. 

But, moreover, another figure had been forward and trouble- 
some enough in last night’s sleep-world ; and forward and 
troublesome enough, too, now, in to-day’s waking-world, namely, 
Eustace, the rejected. How strange that she should have 
dreamt of him the night before ! and dreamt, too, of his fight- 
ing with Mr. Frank and Mr. Amyas ! It must be a warning — 
see, she had met him the very next day in this strange way ; so 
the first half of her dream had come true ; and after what had 
past, she only had to breathe a whisper, and the second part of 
the dream would come true also. If she wished for a passage 
of arms in her own honor, she could easily enough compass 
one : not that she would do it for worlds !• And after all, though 
Mr. Eustace had been very rude and naughty, yet still it was 
not his own fault; he could not- help being in love with her. 
And — and, in short, the poor little maid felt herself one of the 
most important personages on earth, with all the cares (or 
hearts) of the country in her keeping, and as much perplexed 
with matters of weight as ever was any Cleophila or Dianeme, 
Fiordispina or Flourdeluce, in verse run tame, or prose run mad. 

Poor little Rose ! Had she but had a mother ! But she was 
to learn her lesson, such as it was, in another school. She was 
too shy (too proud, perhaps), to tell her aunt her mighty troubles ; 
but a counsellor she must have ; and after setting with her head 
in her hands for half-an-hour or more, she arose suddenly, and 
started off along the cliffs towards Marsland. She would go and 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


77 


see Lucy Passmore, the White Witch ; Lucy knew everything ; 
Lucy would tell her what to do; perhaps even whom to marry. 

Lucy was a fat, jolly woman of fifty, with little pig-eyes, 
which twinkled like sparks of fire, and eyebrows which sloped 
upwards and outwards, like those of a satyr, as if she had been 
(as indeed -she had) all her life looking out of the corners of 
her eyes. Her qualifications as White Witch were boundless 
cunning, equally boundless good nature, considerable knowledge 
of human weaknesses, sOrne mesmeric power, some skill in 
‘ yarbs,’ as she called her simples, a firm faith in the virtue of 
her own incantations, and the faculty of holding her tongue. 
By dint of these she contrived to gain a fair share of money, 
and also (which she liked even better) of power, among the 
simple folk for many miles ronnd. If a child was scalded, a 
tooth ached, a piece of silver was stolen, a heifer shrew-struck, 
a pig bewitched, a young damsel crost in love, Lucy was called 
in, and Lucy found a remedy, especially for the latter complaint. 
Now and then she found herself on ticklish ground, for the kind- 
heartedness which compelled her to help all distressed damsels 
out of a scrape, sometimes compelled her also to help them 
into one : whereon, enraged fathers called Lucy ugly names, 
and threatened to send her into Exeter gaol for a witch, and she 
smiled quietly, and hinted that if she were Mike some that were 
ready to return evil for evil, such talk as that would bring no 
btessing on them that spoke it ; ’ which being translated into 
plain English, meant, ‘ If you trouble me, I will overlook (i. e, 
fascinate) you, and then your pigs will die, your horses stray, 
your cream turn sour, your barns be fired, your son have St. 
Vitus’s dance, your daughter fits, and so on, woe on woe, till 
you are very probably starved to death in a ditch, by virtue of 
this terrible little eye of mine, at which, in spite of all your 
swearing and bullying, you know you are now shaking in your 
shoes for fear. So you had much better hold your tongue, give 
me a drink of cider, and leave ill alone, lest you make it worse.’ 

Not that Lucy ever proceeded to any such fearful extremi- 
ties. On the contrary, her boast, and her belief too, was, that 
she was sent into the world to make poor souls as happy as she 
could, by lawful means, of course, if possible, but if not — why 
unlawful ones were better than none ; for she ‘ couldn’t abear 
to see the poor creatures taking on ; she was too, too tender- 
hearted.’ And so she was, to every one but her husband, a 
tall, simple-hearted, rabbit-faced man, a good deal older than 
herself. Fully agreeing with Sir Richard Grenvile’s great 
axiom, that he who cannot obey cannot rule, Lucy had been for 
the last five-.and-twenty years training him pretty smartly to 
7 * 


78 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


obey her, with the intention, it is to be charitably hoped, of 
letting him rule her in turn when his lesson was perfected. He 
bore his honors, however, meekly enough, having a boundless 
respect for his wife’s wisdom, and a firm belief in her super- 
natural powers, and let her go her own way and earn her own 
money, while he got a little more in a truly pastoral method 
(not extinct yet along those lonely cliffs), by feeding a herd of 
some dozen donkeys and tw^enty goats. The donkeys fetched, 
at each low tide, white shell-sand which was to be sold for 
manure to the neighboring farmers ; the goats furnished milk 
and ‘ kiddy-pies ; ’ and when there was neither milking nor sand- 
carrying to be done, old Will Passmore just sat under a sunny 
rock and watched the buck-goats rattle their horns together, 
thinking about nothing at all, and taking very good care all the 
while neither to inquire nor to see who came in and out of his 
little cottage in the glen. 

The Prophetess, when Rose approached her oracular cave, 
was seated on a tripod in front of the fire, distilling strong 
waters out of pennyroyal. But no sooner did her distinguished 
visitor appear at the hatch, than the still was left to take care of 
itself, and a clean apron and mutch having been slipt on, Lucy 
welcomed Rose with endless courtesies, and — ‘ Bless my dear 
soul alive, who ever would have thought to see the Rose of 
Torridge to my poor little place ! ’ 

Rose sat down : and 'then ? How to begin was more than 
she knew, and she stayed silent a full five minutes, looking 
earnestly at the point of her shoe, till Lucy, who was an adept 
in such cases, thought it best to proceed to business at once, 
and save Rose the delicate operation of opening the ball her- 
self; and so, in her own way, half fawning, half familiar, — 

‘ Well, my dear young lady, and what is it I can do for ye 
For 1 guess you want a bit of old Lucy’s help, eh Though 
Pm most mazed to see ye here, surely. I should have sup- 
posed that pretty face could manage they sort of matters for 
itself. Eh.?’ 

Rose, thus bluntly charged, confessed at once, and with many 
blushes and hesitations, made her soon understand that what she 
wanted was ‘ To have her fortune told.’ 

‘ Eh .? Oh .? I see. The pretty face has managed it a bit 
too well already, eh .? Tu many o’mun, pure fellows ? Well 
taint every mayden has her pick and choose, like some I know 
of, as be blest in love by stars above. So you h’aint made up 
your mind, then ? ’ ^ 

Rose shook her head, 

^Ah well,’ she went on in a half bantering tone, ‘Not 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 79 

SO asy, is it, then ? One’s gude for one thing, and one for 
another, eh ? One has the blood, and another the money.’ 

And so the ‘ cunning woman,’ (as she truly was,) talking 
half to herself, ran over all the names which she thought likely, 
peering at Rose all the while out of the corners of her foxy 
bright eyes, while Rose stirred the peat ashes steadfastly with 
the point of her little shoe, half angry, half ashamed, half 
frightened, to find* that ‘the cunning woman’ had guessed so 
well both her suitors and her thoughts about them, and tried to 
look unconcerned at each name as it came out. 

‘ Well, well,’ said Lucy, who took nothing by her move, 
simply because there was nothing to take; ‘think over it — 
think over it, my dear life ; ’and if you did set your mind on 
any one — why, then — then maybe I might help you to a sight 
of him.’ 

‘ A sight of him .? ’ 

‘ His sperrit, dear life, his sperrit only, I mane. I ’udn’t 
have no keeping company in my house, no, not for gowld 
untowld, I ’udn’t; but the sperrit of mun — to see whether mun 
would be true or not, you’d like to know that, now, ’udn’t you, 
my darling ? ’ 

Rose sighed, and stirred the ashes about vehemently. 

‘ I must first know who it is to be. If you could show me 
that — ■* now — ’ 

‘ Oh, I can show ye that, tu, I can. Ben there’s a way to’t, 
a sure way ; but ’tis mortal cold for the time o’ year, you zee.’ 

‘ But what is it, then ? ’ said Rose, who had in her heart been 
longing for something of that very kind, and had half made up 
•her mind to ask for a charm. 

‘ Why, you’m not afraid to goo into the say by night for a 
minute, are you ? And to-morrow night would serve, too ; 
’twill be just low tide at midnight.’ 

‘If you would come with me, perhaps — ’ 

‘ I’ll come, I’ll come, and stand within call, to be sure. Only 
do ye mind this, dear soul alive, not to goo telling a crumb 
about mun, noo, not for the world, or yu’ll see nought at all, 
indeed, now. And beside, there’s a noxious business grow’d 
up against me up to Chapel there; and I hear tell how Mr. 
Leigh saith I shall to Exeter gaol for’ a witch — didye ever 
hear the likes.? — because his groom Jan saith I overlooked 
mun — the Papist dog ! And now never he nor th’ ould Father 
Francis goo by me without a spotting, and saying of their Aves 
and Malificas — I do know what their Rooman Latin do mane, 
zo well as ever they, I du ! — and a making o’ their charms and 
incantations to their saints and idols ! They be mortal feard 


80 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


of witches, they Papists, and mortal hard on ’em, even on a 
pure body like me, that doth a bit in the white way ; ’case why 
you see, dear life,’ said she, with one of her humorous twinkles, 

‘ tu to a trade do never agree. Do ye try my bit of a charm, 
now ; do ye ! ’ 

Rose could not resist the temptation ; and between them both 
the charm was agreed on, and the next night was fixed for its 
trial, on the payment of certain current coins of the realm (for 
Lucy,, of course, must live by her trade) ; and slipping a tester 
into the dame’s hand as earnest, Lucy went away home, and 
got there in safety. 

But in the meanwhile, at the very hour that Eustace had been 
prosecuting his suit in the lane at Moorwinstow, a very different 
scene was being enacted in Mrs. Leigh’s room at Burrough. 

For the night before, Amyas, as he was going to bed, heard 
his brother Frank in the next room tune his lute, and then begin 
to sing. And both their windows being open, and only a thin 
partition between the chambers, Amyas’s admiring ears came 
in for every word of the following canzonet, sung in that deli- 
cate and mellow tenor voice for which Frank was famed among 
all fair ladies : — 

‘ Ah, tyrant Love, Megsera’s serpents bearing. 

Why thus requite my sighs with venom ’d smart ? 

Ah, ruthless dove, the vulture’s talons wearing, 

Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart ? 

Is this my meed ? Must dragons’ teeth alone 
In Venus’ lawns by lovers’ hands be sown ? 

Nay, gentlest Cupid ; ’twas my pride undid me ; 

Nay, guiltless dove ; by mine own wound I fell. 

To worship, not to wed, Celestials bid me : 

I dreamt to mate in heaven, and wake in hell ; 

For ever doom’d, Ixion-like, to reel 
On mine own passions’ ever-burning wheel.’ 

At which the simple sailor sighed, and longed that he could 
write such neat verses, and sing them so sweetly. How he 
would besiege the ear of Rose Salterne with amorous ditties ! 
But still, he could not be everything ; and if he had the bone and 
muscle of the family, it was but fair that Frank should have the 
brains and voice ; and, after all, he was bone of his bone and 
flesh of his flesh, and it was just the same as if he himself 
could do all the fine things which Frank could do ; for as long 
as one of the family won honor, what matter which of them it 
was ? Whereon he shouted through the wall, ‘ Good night, old 
song-thrush ; I suppose I need not pay the musicians.’ 

‘ What, awake ’ answered Frank. ‘ Come in here, and lull 
me to sleep with a sea-song.’ 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


81 


So Amyas went in, and found Frank laid on the outside of 
his bed, not yet undrest. 

‘ I am a bad sleeper,’ said he ; ‘I spend more time, I fear, in 
burning the midnight oil than prudent men should. Come and 
he my jongleur, my minnesinger, and tell me about Andes, and 
cannibals, and the ice-regions, and the fire-regions, and the 
paradises of the West.’ 

So Amyas sat down, and told : but somehow, every story 
which he tried to tell came. round, by crooked paths, yet sure, 
to none other point than Rose Salterne, and how he thought of 
her here, and thought of her there, and how he wondered what 
she would say if she had seen him in this adventure, and how 
he longed to have had her with him to show her that glorious 
sight, till Frank let him have his own way, and then out came 
the whole story of the simple fellow’s daily and hourly devo- 
tion to her, through those three long years of world-wide wan- 
derings. 

‘ And oh, Frank, I could hardly think of anything but her in 
the church the other day, God forgive me ! and it did seem so 
hard for her to be the only face which I did not see — and have 
not seen her yet, either.’ 

‘ So I thought, dear lad,’ said Frank, with one of his sweet- 
est smiles; ‘and tried to get her father to let her' impersonate 
the nymph of Torridge.’ 

‘ Did you, you dear kind fellow } That would have been 
too delicious.’ 

‘ Just so, too delicious ; wherefore, I suppose, it was ordained 
not to be, that which was being delicious enough.’ 

‘ And is she as pretty as ever ? ’ ^ 

‘ Ten times ^as pretty, dear lad, as half the young fellows 
round have discovered. If you mean to win her and wear her, 
(and God grant you may fare no worse !) you will have rivals 
enough to get rid of.’ 

‘ Humph ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ I hope I shall not have to make 
short work with some of them.’ 

‘I hope not,’ said Frank, laughing. ‘Now go to bed, and 
to-morrow morning give your sword to mother to keep, lest you 
should be tempted to draw it on any of her Majesty’s lieges.’ 

‘ No fear of that, Frank ; I am no swashbuckler, thank God ; 
but if any one gets in my way. I’ll serve him as the mastiff did 
the terrier, and just drop him over the quay into the river, to 
cool himself, or my name’s not Amyas.’ 

And the giant swung himself laughing out of the room, and 
slept all night like a seal, not without dreams, of course, of 
Rose Salterne. 


83 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


The next morning, according to his wont, he went into his 
mother’s room, whom he was sure to find up, and at her pray- 
ers ; for he liked to say his prayers, too, by her side, as he 
used to do when he was a little boy. It seemed so homelike, he 
said, after three years’ knocking up and down in no-man’s-land. 
But coming gently to the door, for fear of disturbing her, 
and entering unperceived, beheld a sight which stopped him 
short. 

Mrs. Leigh was sitting in her chair, with her face bowed, 
fondly down upon the head of his brother Frank, who knelt 
before her, his face buried in her lap. Amyas could see that 
his whole form was quivering with stifled emotion. Their 
mother was just finishing the last words of a well-known text — 

‘ for my sake, and the Gospel’s, shall receive a hundredfold in 
this present life, fathers, and mothers, and brothers, and sisters.’ 

‘But not a wife!’ interrupted Frank, with a voice stifled 
with sobs ; ‘ that was too precious a gift for even Him to promise 
to those who gave up a first love for His sake ! ’ 

‘ And yet,’ said he, after a moment’s silence, ‘ has He not 
heaped me with blessings enough already, that I must repine 
and rage at His refusing me one more, even though that one 
be — No, mother! I am your son, and God’s; and you shall 
know it, even though Amyas never does ! ’ And he looked up, 
with his clear blue eyes and white forehead ; and his face was 
as the face of an angel. 

Both of them saw that Amyas was present, and started and 
blushed. His mother motioned him away with her eyes, and 
he went quietly out, as one stunned. Why had his name been 
mentioned ? 

Love, cunning love, told him all at once. This was the 
meaning of last night’s canzonet ! This was why its words 
had seemed to fit his own heart so well ! His brother was 
his rival. And he had been telling him all his love last 
night. What a stupid brute he was ! How it must have made 
poor Frank wince ! And then Frank had listened so kindly; 
even bid him' God speed in his suit. What a gentleman old 
Frank was, to be sure ! No wonder the Queen was so fond of 

him, and all the court ladies ! Why, if it came to that, 

what wonder if Rose Salterne should be fond of him too ? 
Hey-day ! ‘ That would be a pretty fish to find in my net 

when I come to haul it! ’ quoth Amyas to himself, as he paced 
the garden ; and clutching desperately hold of his locks with 
both hands, as if to hold his poor confused head on its shoulders, 
he strode and tramped up and down the shell-paved garden 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


83 


walks for a full half hour, till Frank’s voice (as cheerful as 
ever, though he more than suspected all) called liim. 

‘ Come in to breakfast, lad ; and stop grinding and creaking 
upon those miserable limpets, before thou hast set every tooth 
in my head on edge ! ’ 

Amyas, whether by dint of holding his head straight, or by 
higher means, had got the thoughts of the said head straight 
enough by this time ; and in he came, and fell to upon the 
broiled fish and strong ale with a sort of fury, as determined to 
do his duty to the utmost in all matters that day ; and therefore, 
of course, in that most important matter of bodily sustenance ; 
while his mother and Frank looked at him, not without anxiety 
and even terror, doubting what turn his fancy might have taken 
in so new a case ; at last — 

‘ My dear Amyas, you will really heat your blood with all 
that strong ale ! Remember those who drink beer, think 
beer.’ 

‘ Then they think right good thoughts, mother. And in the 
meanwhile, those who drink water, think water. Eh, old 
Frank ? and here’s your health.’ 

‘ And clouds are water,’ said his mother, somewhat reassured 
by his genuine good humor ; ‘ and so are rainbows ; and clouds 
are angels’ thrones, and rainbows the sign of God’s peace on 
earth.’ 

Amyas understood the hint, and laughed. ‘ Then I’ll pledge 
Frank out of the next ditch, if it please you and him. But 
first — I say — he must hearken to a parable ; a manner mys- 
tery, miracle play, I have got in my head, like what they have 
at Easter, to the town hall. Now then, hearken. Madam, and 
I and Frank will act.’ And up rose Amyas, and shoved back 
his chair, and put on a solemn face. 

Mrs. Leigh looked up, trembling; and Frank, he scarce knew 

why, rose. . i i • -n 

‘ No ; you pitch again. You are king David, and sit still 

upon your throne. David was a great singer, you know, and a 
player on the viols ; and ruddy, too, and of a fair countenance ; 
so that will fit. Now, then, mother, don’t look so frightened. 
I am not going to play Goliath, for all my cubits ; I am to pre- 
sent Nathan the prophet. Now, David, hearken ; for I have a 

message unto thee, O King ! . , j i u 

‘ There were two men in one city, one rich and the other 
poor : and the rich man had many flocks and herds, and all the 
fine ladies in Whitehall to court if he liked ; and the poor man 
had nothing but 


84 


THE TWO WAYS OF 


And in spite of his broad honest smile, Amyas’s deep voice 
began to tremble and choke. 

Frank sprang up, and burst into tears : — ‘ Oh ! Amyas, my 
brother, my brother! stop! I cannot endure this. Oh, God ! 
was it not enough to have entangled myself in this fatal fancy, 
but over and above, I must meet the shame of my brother’s dis- 
covering it ? ’ 

‘What shame, then, I’d like to know?? said Amyas, re- 
covering himself. ‘ Look here, brother Frank ! I’ve thought it 
all over in the garden ; and I was an ass and a braggart for 
talking to you as I did last night. Of course you love her ! 
Everybody must ; and I was a fool for not recollecting that ; 
and if you love her, your taste and mine agree, and what can 
be better? I think you a sensible fellow for loving her, and 
you think me one. And as for who has her, why, you’re the 
eldest ; and first come first served is the rule, and best to keep 
to it. Besides, brother Frank, though I’m no scholar, yet I’m 
not so blind but that I tell the difference between you and me ; 
"^and of course, your chance against mine, for a hundred to one ; 
and I am not going to be fool enough to row against wind and 
tide too. I’m good enough for her, I hope ; but if I am, you 
are better, and the good dog may run, but it’s the best that 
takes the hare ; and so I have nothing more to do with the 
matter at all ; and if you marry her, why, it will set the old 
house on its legs again, and that’s the first thing to be thought 
of, and you may just as well do it as I, and better too. Not 
but that it’s a plague, a horrible plague ! ’ went on Amyas, with 
a ludicrously doleful visage; ‘ but so are other things too, by 
the dozen; it’s all in the day’s work, as the huntsman said 
when the lion eat him. One woujd never get through the 
furze-croft if one stopped to pull out the prickles. The pig 
didn’t scramble out of the ditch by squeaking ; and the less 
said the sooner mended ; nobody was sent into the world only 
to suck honey-pots. What must be must; man is but dust ; if 
you can’t get crumb, you must fain eat crust. So I’ll go 
and join the army in Ireland, and get it out of my head, for 
cannon balls fright away love as well as poverty does ; and 
that’s all I’ve got to say.’ Wherewith Amyas sat down, and 
returned to the beer; while Mrs. Leigh wept tears of joy. 

‘ Amyas ! Amyas ! ’ said Frank ; ‘ you must not throw away 
the hopes of years, and for me, too ! Oh, how just was your 
parable ! Ah ! mother mine ! to what use is all my scholarship 
and my philosophy, when this dear simple sailor-lad outdoes 
me at the first trial of courtesy ? ’ 

L 


BEING CROST IN LOVE. 


85 


‘ My children ! my children ! which of you shall I love best ? 
Which of you is the more noble ? I thanked God this morn- 
ing for having given me one such son ; but to have found that 
I possess two ! ’ And Mrs. Leigh laid her head on the table, 
and buried her face in her hands, while the generous battle 
went on. 

‘ But, dearest Amyas ! ’ 

‘ But, Frank ! if you don’t hold your tongue, I must go forth. 
It was quite trouble enough to make up one’s mind, without 
having you afterwards trying to unmake it again.’ 

‘ Amyas, if you give her up to me, God do so to me, and 
more also, if I do not hereby give her up to you ! ’ 

‘ He had done it already — this morning ! ’ said Mrs. Leigh, 
looking up through her tears. ‘ He renounced her for ever on 
his knees before me ! only he is too noble to tell you so.’ 

‘ The more reason I should copy him ; ’ said Amyas, setting 
his lips, and trying to look desperately "determined, and then 
suddenly jumping up, he leaped upon Frank, and throwing his 
arms round his neck, sobbed out, ‘ There, there now ! For 
God’s sake, let us forget all, and think about our mother and 
the old house, and how we may win her honor before we die ! 
and that will be enough to keep our hands full, without fretting 
about this woman and that. What an ass I have been for 
years! instead of learning my calling, dreaming about her, 
and don’t know at this minute, whether she cares more for me 
than she does for her father’s ’prentices ! ’ . ' 

‘ Oh, Amyas 1 every word of yours puts me to fresh shame 1 
Will you believe that I know as little of her likings as you 
do ’ 

‘ Don’t tell me that, and play the devil’s game by putting 
fresh hopes into me, when 1 am trying to kick them out. I 
won’t believe it. If she is not a fool, she must love you ; and 
if she don’t, why, behanged if she is worth loving 1 ’ 

‘ My dearest Amyas ! 1 must ask you too to make no more 
such speeches to me. All those thoughts I have forsworn.’ 

‘ Only this morning; so there is time to catch them again 
before they are gone too far.’ 

‘ Only this morning ; ’ said Frank, with a quiet smile : ‘ but 
centuries have passed since then.’ 

‘ Centuries ? I don’t see many gray hairs yet. 

‘ I should not have been surprised if you had though,’ an- 
swered Frank, in so sad and meaning a tone that Amyas could 
only answer, — 

‘ Well, you are an angel ! ’ 

8 


\ 


86 THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE. 

‘ You, at least, are something even more to the purpose, for 
you are a man ! ’ 

And both spoke truth, and so the battle ended ; and Frank 
went to his books, while Amyas, who must- needs be doing, if 
he was not to dream, started off to the dock-yard to potter about 
a new ship of Sir Richard’s, and forget his woes, in the capacity 
of Sir Oracle among the sailors. And so he had played his 
move for Rose, even as Eustace had, and lost her : but not as 
Eustace had. 



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\ 


CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


87 


CHAPTER V. ' 

CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME. 

, * It was among the ways of good Queen Bess, 

Who ruled as well as ever mortal can, Sir, 

When she was stogg’d, and the country in a mess. 

She was wont to send for a Devon man, Sir.’ 

TVesi Country Song. 

The next morning Amyas Leigh was* not to be found. Not 
that he had gone out to drown himself in despair, or even to 
bemoan himself ‘ down by the Torridge-side.’ He had simply 
ridden off, Frank found, to Sir Richard Grenvile at Stow: his 
mother at once divined the truth, that he was gone to try for 
a post in the Irish army, and sent off Frank after him to bring 
him home again, and make him at least reconsider himself. 

So Frank took horse and rode thereon ten miles or more ; 
and then, as there were no inns on the road in those days, or 
indeed in these, and he had some ten miles more of hilly road 
before him, he turned down the hill towards Clovelly Court, to 
obtain, after the hospitable humane fashion of those days, good 
entertainment for man and horse from Mr. Cary the ’squire. 

And when he walked self-invited, like the loud shouting 
Menelaus, into the long dark wainscotted hall of the Court, the 
first object he beheld was the mighty form of Amyas, who, 
seated at the long table, was alternately burying his face in a 
pasty, and the pasty in his face, his sorrows having, as it 
seemed, only sharpened his appetite, while young Will Cary, 
kneeling on the opposite bench, with his elbows on the table, 
was in that graceful attitude laying down the law fiercely to 
him in a low voice. 

‘ Hillo ! lad,’ cried Amyas ; ‘ come hither and deliver me 
out of the hands of this fire-eater, who I verily believe will kill 
me, if I do not let him kill some one else.’ 

‘ Ah ! Mr. Frank,’ said Will Cary, who, like all other young 
gentlemen of these parts, held Frank in high honor, and con- 
sidered him a very oracle and cynosure of fashion and chiv- 
alry ; ‘ welcome here ; I was just longing for you, too ; 1 


88 


CLOVELLY COURT. 


wanted your advice on half-a-dozen matters. Sit down, and 
eat. There is the ale.’ 

‘ None so early, thank you.’ 

‘ Ah, no ! ’ said Amyas, burying his head in the tankard, and 
then mimicking Frank, ‘ avoid strong ale o’ mornings. It heats 
the blood, thickens the animal spirits, and obfuscates the cere- 
brum with frenetical and lymphatic idols, which cloud the 
quintessential light of the pure reason. Eh ? young Plato, 
young Daniel, come hither to judgment ! And yet, though I 
can see through the bottom of the tankard already, 1 can see 
plain enough still to see this, that Will shall not fight.’ 

‘ Shall I not, eh ? who says that? Mr. Frank, I appeal to 
you, now ; only hear.’ 

‘ We are in the judgment-seat ; ’ said Frank, settling to the 
pasty. ‘ Proceed, appellant.’ 

‘ Well, I was telling Amyas, that Tom Coffin of Portledge ; I 
will stand him no longer.’ 

‘ Let him be, then,’ said Amyas ; ‘ he could stand very well 
by himself, when I saw him last.’ 

‘ Plague on you, hold your tongue. Has he any right to 
look at me as he does, whenever I pass him ? ’ 

‘ That depends on how he looks ; a cat may look at a king, 
provided she don’t take him for a mouse.’ 

‘ Oh, I know how he looks, and what he means, too, and he 
shall stop, or I will stop him. And the other day, when I spoke 
of Rose Salterne,’ — ‘ Ah ! ’ groaned Frank, ‘ Ate’s apple 
again ! ’ — ‘ (never mind what 1 said), he burst out laughing in 
my face ; and is not that a fair quarrel ? And what is more, I 
know that he wrote a sonnet, and sent it her to Stow by a mar- 
ket woman. What right has he to write sonnets when I can’t ? 
It’s not fair play, Mr. Frank, or I am a Jew, and a Spaniard, 
and a papist ; it’s not ! ’ And Will smote the table till the plates 
danced again. 

‘ My dear knight of the burning pestle, I have a plan, a 
device, a disentanglement, according to most approved rules of 
chivalry. Let us fix a day, and summon by tuck of drum all 
young gentlemen under the age of thirty, dwelling within fifteen 
miles of the habitation of that peerless Oriana.’ 

‘ And all ’prentice-boys too,’ cried Amyas out of the pasty. 

‘ And all ’prentice-boys. The bold lads shall fight first with 
good quarterstaves in Bideford Market, till all heads are broken ; 
and the head which is not broken, let the back belonging to it 
pay the penalty of the noble member’s cowardice. After which 
grand tournament, to which that of Tottenham shall be but a 
flea-bite and a batrachomyomachy — ’ 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


89 


‘Confound you, and your long words, Sir,’ said poor Will, 
‘ I know you are flouting me.’ 

‘ Pazieiiza, Signor Cavaliere; that which is to come is no 
flouting, but bloody and warlike earnest. For afterwards all 
the young gentlemen shall adjourn into a convenient field, sand, 
or bog — which last will be better, as no man will be able to 
run away, if he be up to his knees in soft peat : and there strip- 
ping to our shirts, with rapiers of equal length and keenest 
temper, each shall slay his man, catch who catch can, and the 
conquerors fight again, like a most valiant main of gamecocks 
as we are, till all be dead, and out of their woes ; after which 
the survivor, bewailing before heaven and earth the cruelty of 
our fair Oriana, and the slaughter which her basiliskine eyes 
have caused, shall fall gracefully upon his sword, and so end 
the woes of this our lovelorn generation. Placelne Domini ? 
as they used to ask in the Senate at Oxford.’ 

‘ Really,’ said Cary, ‘ this is too bad.’ 

‘ So is, pardon me, your fighting Mr. Coffin with anything 
longer than a bodkin.’ 

‘ Bodkins are too short for such fierce Bobadils,’ said Amyas ; 
‘ they would close in so near, that we should have them falling 
to fisticuffs after the first bout.’ 

‘Then let them fight with squirts across the market-place; 
for, by heaven and the Queen’s laws, they shall fight with 
nothing else.’ 

‘ My dear Mr. Cary,’ went on Frank, suddenly changing his 
bantering tone to one of the most winning sweetness ; ‘ do not 
fancy that I cannot feel for you ; or that I, as well as you, 
have not known the stings of love, and the bitterer stings of 
jealousy. But oh, Mr. Cary, does it not seem to you an awful 
thing to waste selfishly upon your own quarrel that divine wrath 
which, as Plato says, is the very root of all virtues, and which 
has been given you, like all else which you have, that you may 
spend it in the service of her whom all bad souls fear, and all 
virtuous souls adore, — our peerless Queen ? Who dares, 
while she rules England, call his sword or his courage his own, 
or any one’s but her’s ? Are there no Spaniards to conquer, no 
wild Irish to deliver from their oppressors, that two gentlemen 
of Devon can find no better place to flesh their blades than in 
each other’s valiant and honorable hearts ? ’ 

‘By heaven!’ cried Amyas, ‘Frank speaks like a book; 
and for me, I do think that Christian gentlemen may leave love 
quarrels to bulls and rams.’ 

‘ And that the heir of Clovelly,’ said Frank, smiling, ‘ may 
8 * 


90 


CLOVELLY COURT 


find more noble examples to copy than the stags in his own 
deer-path.’ 

‘Well,’ said Will penitently, ‘ yOu are a great scholar, Mr. 
Frank, and you speak like one ; but gentlemen must fight 
sometimes, or where would be their honor ? ’ 

‘I speak,’ said Frank a little proudly, ‘not merely as a 
scholar, but as a gentleman, and one who has fought ere now, 
and to whom, it has happened, Mr. Cary, to kill his man (on 
whose soul may God have mercy) ; but it is my pride to re- 
member that I have never yet fought in my own quarrel, and 
my trust in God that t never shall. For as there is nothing 
more noble and blessed than to fight in behalf of those whom 
we love, so to fight in our own private 'behalf is a thing not to 
be allowed to a Christian man, unless refusal imports utter loss 
of life or honor; and even then, it may be (though I would not 
lay a burden on any man’s conscience), it is better not to resist 
evil, but to overcome it with good.’ 

‘ And I can tell you. Will,’ said Amyas, ‘I am not troubled 
with fear of ghosts ; but when I cut off the Frenchman’s 
head, I said to myself, “ If that braggart had been slandering 
me instead of her gracious Majesty, I should expect to see 
that head lying on my pillow every time I went to bed at 
night.” ’ 

‘ God forbid ! ’ said Will with a shudder. ‘ But what shall I 
do ? for to the market to-morrow I will go, if it were choke-full 
of Coffins, and a ghost in each coffin of the lot.’ 

‘ Leave the matter to me,’ said Amyas. ‘ I have my device, 
as well as scholar Frank here; and if there be, as 1 suppose 
there must be, a quarrel in the market to-morrow, see if I do 
not ’ 

‘ Well, you are two good fellows,’ said Will. ‘Let us have 
another tankard in.’ 

‘ And drink the health of Mr. Coffin and all gallant lads of 
the north,’ Said Frank; ‘ and now to my business. I have to 
take this runaway youth here home to his mother ; and if he 
will not go quietly, I have orders to carry him across my 
saddle.’ 

‘ 1 hope your nag has a strong back, then,’ said Amyas ; ‘ but 
I must go on and see Sir Richard, Frank. It is all very well 
to jest as we have been doing, but my mind is made up.’ 

‘ Stop,’ said Cary. ‘You must stay here to-night; first, for 
good fellowship’s sake; and next, because I want the advice of 
our Phoenix here, our oracle, our paragon. There, Mr. Frank, 
can you construe that for me ? Speak low, though, gentlemen 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


91 


both ; there comes my father ; you had better ^ive me the 
letter again. Well, father, whence this morning ? ’ 

‘ Eh, company here ? Young men you are always welcome, 
and such as you. Would there were more of your sort in 
these dirty times. How is your good mother, Frank, eh ? 
Where have I been. Will ? Round the house-farm, to look at 
the beeves. That sheeted heifer of Prowse’s is all wrong ; her 
coat stares like a hedgepig’s. Tell Jewell to go up and bring 
her in before night. And then up the forty acres ; sprang two 
coveys, and picked a leash out of them. The Irish hawk flies 
as wild as any haggard still, and will never make a bird. I 
had to hand her to Tom, and take the little peregrine. Give 
me a Clovelly hawk against the world, after all; and — heigh 
ho, I am very hungry ! Half-past twelve, and dinner not 
served? What, Master Amyas, spoiling your appetite with 
strong ale ? Better have tried sack, lad ; have some now with 
me.’ 

And the worthy old gentleman, having finished his oration, 
settled himself on a great bench inside the chimney, and put 
his hawk on a perch over his head, while his cockers coiled 
themselves up close to the warm peat-ashes, and his son set to 
work to pull off his father’s boots, amid sundry warnings to 
take care of his corns. 

‘ Come, Master Amyas, a pint of white wine and sugar, and a 
bit of a shoeing-horn to it ere we dine. Some pickled prawns, 
now, or a rasher off the coals, to whet you ? ’ 

‘ Thank you,’ quoth Amyas ; ‘ but I have drank a mort of 
outlandish liquors, better and worse, in the last three years, and 
yet never found aught to come up to good ale, which needs 
shoeing-horn neither before nor after, but take care of itself, 
and of all honest stomachs too, 1 think.’ 

‘ You speak like a book, boy,’ said old Cary ; ‘ and after all, 
what a plague comes of these newfangled hot wines, and aqua 
vitms, which have come in since the wars, but maddening of 
the brains, and fever of the blood ? ’ 

‘ I fear we have not seen the end of that yet,’ said Frank. 
‘ My friends write me from the Netherlands that our men are 
falling into a swinish trick of swilling like the Hollanders. 
Heaven grant that they may not bring home the fashion with 
them.’ 

‘A man must drink, they say, or die of the ague, in those 
vile swamps,’ said Amyas. ‘ When they get home here, they 
will not need it.’ 

‘Heaven grant it,’ said Frank; ‘I should be sorry to see 


92 


CLOVELLY COURT 


Devonshire a drunken county ; and there are many of our men 
out there with Mr. Champernoun.’ 

‘Ah,’ said Cary, ‘there, as in Ireland, we are proving her 
Majesty’s saying true, that Devonshire is her right hand, and 
the young children thereof like the arrows in the hand of the 
giant.’ 

‘ They may well be,’ said his son, ‘ when some of them are 
giants themselves, like my tall school-fellow opposite.’ 

‘ He will be up and doing again presently. I’ll warrant him 
said old Cary. 

‘ And that I shall,’ quoth Amyas. ‘ I have been devising 
brave deeds; and see in the distance enchanters to be bound, 
dragons choked, empires conquered, though not in Holland.’ 

‘You do.?’ asked Will, a little sharply; for he had had a 
half suspicion that more was meant than met the ear. 

‘ Yes,’ said Amyas, turning off his jest again, ‘ I go to what 
Raleigh calls the Land of the Nymphs. Another month, I 
hope, will see me abroad, in Ireland.’ 

‘ Abroad .? Call it rather at home,’ said old Cary ; ‘ for it is 
full of Devon men from end to end, and you will be among 
friends all day long. George Bourchier from Tawstock has 
the army now in Munster, and Warham St. Leger is Marshal ; 
George Carew is with Lord Grey of Wilton (poor Peter Carew 
was killed at Glendalough) ; and after the defeat last year, when 
that villain Desmond cut off Herbert and Price, the companies 
were made up with six hundred Devon men, and Arthur For- 
tescue at their head ; so that the old county holds her head as 
proudly in the Land of Ire as she does in the Low Countries 
and the Spanish Main.’ 

‘ And where,’ asked Amyas, ‘ is Davils of Marsland, who 
used to teach me how to catch trout, when I was staying down 
at Stow .? He is in Ireland, too, is he not .? ’ 

‘ Ah, my lad,’ said Mr. Cary, ‘ that is a sad story. I thought 
all England had known it.’ 

‘ You forget. Sir, I am a stranger; surely he is not dead ? ’ 

‘ Murdered foully, lad ! Murdered like a dog, and by the 
man whom he had treated as his son, and who pretended, the 
false knave ! to call him father.’ 

‘ His blood is avenged ? ’ said Amyas, fiercely. 

‘ No, by heaven, not yet ! Stay, don’t cry out again. I am 
getting old — I must tell my story my own way. It was last 
July, — was it not. Will? — Over comes to Ireland Saunders, 
one of those Jesuit foxes, as the Pope’s legate, with money and 
bulls, and a banner hallowed by the Pope, and the devil 
knows what beside ; and with him James Fitzmaurice, the same 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


93 


fellow who had sworn on his knees to Perrott, in the church 
at Kilmallock, to be a true liegeman to Queen Elizabeth, and 
confirmed it by all his saints, and such a world of his Irish 
howling, that Perrot told me he was fain to stop his own ears. 
Well, he had been practising with the King of France, but got 
notliing but laughter for his pains, and so went over to the Most 
Catholic King, and promises him to join Ireland to Spain, and 
set up popery again, and what not. And he, I suppose, 
thinking it better that Ireland should belong to him than to the 
Pope’s bastard, fits him out, and sends him off on such another 
errand as Stukely’s, — though I will say, for the honor of Devon, 
if Stukely lived like a fool, he died like an honest man.’ 

‘ Sir Thomas Stukely dead, too ? ’ said Amyas. 

‘ Wait a while, lad, and ;^ou shall have that tragedy after- 
wards. Well, where was I ? Oh, Fitzmaurice and the Jesuits 
land at Smerwick, with three ships, choose a place for a fort, 
bless it with their holy water, and their moppings and their 
scourings, and the rest of it, to purify it from the stain of 
heretic dominion; but in the meanwhile, one of the Courtenays, 
— a Courtenay of Haccombe, was it ? — or a Courtenay of 
Boconnock ? Silence, Will, I shall have it in a minute — yes, 
a Courtenay of Haccombe it was, lying at anchor near by, in a 
ship of war of his, cuts out the three ships, and cuts off the 
Dons from the sea. John and James Desmond, with some 
small rabble, go over to the Spaniards. Earl Desmond will 
not join them, but will not fight them, and stands by to take the 
winning side ; and then in comes poor Davils, sent down by the 
Lord Deputy to charge Desmond and his brothers, in the 
Queen’s name, to assault the Spaniards. Folks say it was rash 
of his Lordship : but I say, what could be better done ? Every- 
one knows that there never was a stouter or shrewder soldier 
than Davils; and the young Desmonds, I have heard him say 
many a time, used to look on him as their father. But he 
found out what it was to trust Englishmen turned Irish. Well, 
the Desmonds found out on a sudden that the Dons were such 
desperate Paladins, that it was madness to meddle, though they 
were five to one ; and poor Davils, seeing that there was no 
fight in them, goes back for help, and sleeps that night at some 
place called Tralee. Arthur Carter of Bideford, St. Leger’s 
lieutenant, as stout an old soldier as Davils himself, sleeps in 
the same bed with him ; the lacquey-boy, who is now with Sir 
Richard at Stow, on the floor at their feet. But in the dead of 
night, who should come in but James Desmond, sword in hand, 
with a dozen of his ruffians at his heels, each with his glib over 
his ugly face, and his skene in his hand. Davils springs up in 


94 


CLOVELLY COURT. 


bed, and asks but this, “ What is the matter, my son ?” whereon 
the treacherous villain, without giving him time to say a prayer, 
strikes at him, naked as he was, crying, “Thou shalt be my 
father no longer, nor I thy son ! Thou shalt die ! ” and at that 
all the rest fall on him. The poor little lad (so he says) leaps 
up to cover his master with his naked body, get three or four 
stabs of skenes, and so falls for dead ; with his master and 
Captain Carter, who were dead indeed — God reward them ! 
After that the ruffians ransacked the house, till they had mur- 
dered every Englishman in it, the lacquey-boy only excepted, 
who crawled out, wounded as he was, through a window ; 
while Desmond, if you will believe it, went back, up to his 
elbows in blood, and vaunted his deeds to the Spaniards, and 
asked them — “ There ! Will you take that as a pledge that I 
am faithful to you ? ” And that, my lad, was the end of Henry 
Davils, and will be of all who trust to the faith of wild savages.’ 

‘ I would go a hundred miles to see that Desmond hanged ! ’ 
said Amyas, while great tears ran down his face. ‘ Poor Mr. 
Davils ! And now, what is the story of Sir Thomas ? ’ 

‘ Your brother must tell you that, lad ; I am somewhat out of 
breath.’ 

‘And I have a right to tell it,’ said Frank, with a smile. 

‘ Do you know that 1 was very near being Earl of the bog of 
Allen, and one of the peers of the realm to King Buoncompagna, 
son and heir to his Holiness Pope Gregory the Thirteenth ? ’ 

‘ No, surely ! ’ 

‘ As I am a gentleman. When I was at Rome I saw poor 
Stukely often ; and this and more he offered me on the part 
(as he said) of the Pope, if I would just oblige him in the two 
little matters of being reconciled to the Catholic Church, and 
joining the invasion of Ireland.’ 

‘ Poor deluded heretic,’ said Will Cary, ‘ to have lost an 
earldom for your family by such silly scruples of loyalty ! ’ 

‘ It is not a matter for jestkig, after all,’ said Frank ; ‘ but I 
saw Sir Thomas often, and 1 cannot believe he was in his 
senses, so frantic was his vanity and his ambition ; and all the 
while, in private matters as honorable a gentleman as ever. How- 
ever, he sailed at last for Ireland, with his eight hundred Span- 
iards and Italians ; and what is more, 1 know that the King of 
Spain paid their charges. Marquis Vinola — James Buoncom- 
pagna, that is — stayed quietly at Rome, preferring that Stukely 
should conquer his paternal heritage of Ireland for him, while 
he took care of the do?ia rohas at home. I went down to 
Civita Vecchia to see him off, and though his younger by many 
years, I could not but take the liberty of entreating him, as a 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


95 


gentleman and a man of Devon, to consider his faith to his 
Queen and the honor of his country. There were high words 
between us ; God forgive me if I spoke too fiercely, for I never 
saw him again.’ 

‘Too fiercely to an open traitor, Frank? Why not have 
run him through ? ’ 

‘Nay, I had no clean life for Sundays, Amyas; so I could 
not throw away my week-day one ; and as for the weal of 
England, I knew that it was little he would damage it, and told 
him so. And at that he waxed utterly mad, for it touched his 
pride, and swore that if the wind had not been fair for sailing, 
he would have fought me there and then ; to which I could 
only answer, that I was ready to meet him, when he would ; 
and he parted from me, saying, “ It is a pity. Sir, I cannot 
fight you now ; when next we meet, it will be beneath my 
dignity to measure swords with you.’” 

‘ I suppose he expected to come back a prince, at least ; 
Heaven knows, I owe him no ill-will, nor I hope does any man. 
He has paid all debts now in full, and got his receipt for them.’ 

‘ How did he die, then, after all ? ’ 

‘ On his voyage he touched in Portugal. King Sebastian was 
just sailing for Africa with his new ally, Mohammed the Prince 
of Fez, to help King Abdallah, and conquer what he could. 
Pie persuaded Stukely to go with him. There were those who 
thought that he, as well as the Spaniards, had no stomach for 
seeing the Pope’s son king of Ireland. Others used to say that 
he thought an island too small for his ambition, and must needs 
conquer a continent — I know not why it was, but he went. 
They had heavy weather in the passage, and when they landed, 
many of their soldiers were sea-sick. Stukely, reasonably 
enough, counselled that they should wait two or three days and 
recruit : but Don Sebastian was so mad for the assault, that he 
must needs have his veni, vidi, vici ; and so ended with a 
veni^ vidi^ perii ; for he, Abdallah, and his son Mohammed, all 
perished in the first battle at Alcasar ; and Stukely, surrounded 
and overpowered, fought till he could fight no more, and then 
died like a hero with all his wounds in front ; and may God 
have mercy on his soul ! ’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ we heard of that battle off Lima, but 
nothing about poor Stukely.’ 

‘ That last was a Popish prayer, Master Frank,’ said old 
Mr. Cary. 

‘ Most worshipful Sir, you surely would not wish God not to 
have mercy on his soul ? ’ 


96 


CLOVELLY COURT. 


‘ No — Eh ? Of course not ; but that’s all settled by now, 
for he is dead, poor fellow.’ 

‘ Certainly, my dear Sir. And you cannot help being a 
little fond'of him still.’ 

‘ Eh ? Why, I should be a brute, if I were not. He and I 
were school-fellows, though he was somewhat the younger ; 
and many a good thrashing have -I given him, and one cannot 
help having a tenderness for a man after that. Beside, we used 
to hunt together in Exmoor, and have royal nights afterward 
into Ilfracombe, when we were a couple of mad young blades. 
Fond of him ? Why I would have sooner given my forefinger 
than that he should have gone to the dogs thus.’ 

‘ Then, my dear Sir, if you feel for him still, in spite of all 
his faults, how do you know that God may not feel for him 
still, in spite of all his faults ? For my part,’ quoth Frank in 
his fanciful way, ‘ without believing in that Popish purgatory, I 
cannot help holding with Plato, that such heroical souls, who 
have wanted but little of true greatness, are hereafter by some 
strait discipline brought to a better mind ; perhaps, as many 
ancients have held with the Indian Gymnosophists, by trans- 
migration into the bodies of those animals whom they have 
resembled in their passions; and, indeed, if Sir John Stukely’s 
soul should now animate the body of a lion, all I can say is, 
that he would both be a very valiant and royal lion ; and also 
doubtless become in due time heartily ashamed and penitent 
for having been nothing better than a lion.’ 

‘ What now. Master Frank ? I don’t trouble my head with 
such matters ; I say Stukely was a right good-hearted fellow at 
bottom ; and if you plague my head with any of your dialec- 
tics, and propositions, and college quibs and quiddities, you 
shan’t have any more sack. Sir ! But here come the knaves, 
and I hear the cook knock to dinner.’ 

After a madrigal or two, and an Italian song of Master 
Frank’s, all which went sweetly enough, the ladies rose, and 
went. Whereon Will Cary, drawing his chair close to Frank’s, 
put quietly into his hand a dirty letter. 

‘ This was the letter left for me,’ whispered he, ‘ by a 
country fellow this morning. Look at it, and tell me what I 
am to do.’ 

Whereon Frank opened, and read : — 

‘ Mister Cary, be you wary 
By deer park-end to-night. 

Yf Irish ffoxe com out of rocks 
Grip and hold hyni light.’ 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


97 


* I would have shown it my father,’ said Will, ‘ but — ’ 

‘ I verily believe it to be a blind. See, now, this is the hand- 
writing of a man who has been trying to write vilely, and yet 
cannot. Look at that B, and that \\\e\v formcB formativcB 
never were begotten in a hedge-school. And what is more, 
this is no Devon man’s handiwork. We say “ to,” and not 
“ by,” Will, eh .? in the West country } ’ 

‘ Of course.’ 

‘ And “ man,” instead of “ him ” } ’ 

‘ True, O Daniel ! But am I to do nothing, therefore } ’ 

‘ On that matter I am no judge. Let us ask much-enduring 
Ulysses here ; perhaps he has not sailed round the world with- 
out bringing home a device or two.’ 

Whereon Amyas was called to counsel, so soon as Mr. Cary 
could be stopped in a long cross-examination of him as to Mr. 
Doughty’s famous trial and execution. 

Amyas pondered awhile, thrusting his hands into his long 
curls ; and then — 

‘ Will, my lad, have you been watching at the Deer Park 
End of late .? ’ ^ 

‘ Never.’ 

‘ Where, then > ’ 

‘ At the Town-beach.’ 

‘ Where else } ’ 

‘ At the Town-head.’ 

‘ Where else } ’ 

‘ Why, the fellow is turned lawyer ! Above Freshwater.’ 

‘ Where is Freshwater } ’ 

‘ Why, where the waterfall comes over the cliff, half a mile 
from the town. There is a path there up into the forest.’ 

‘ I know. I’ll watch there tb-night. Do you keep all your 
old haunts safe, of course, and send a couple of stout knaves 
to the mill, to watch the beach at the Deer Park End, on the 
chance; for your poet may be a true man, after all. But my 
heart’s faith is, that this comes just to draw you off from some 
old beat of yours, upon a wild-goose chase. If they shoot the 
miller by mistake, I suppose it don’t much matter.? ’ 

‘ Marry, no. 

‘ When a miller’s knock’d on the head, 

The less of flour makes the more of bread,’ 

‘ Or, again,’ chimed in old Mr. Cary, ‘ as they say in the 
North, — 


9 


98 


CLOVELLY COURT 


* Find a miller that Tvill not steal, 

Or a Webster that is leal, 

Or a priest that is not greedy, 

And lay them three a dead corpse by; 

And by the virtue of them three, 

The said dead corpse shall quicken’d be.’ . 

‘But why are you so ready to watch Freshwater to-night, 
Master A my as ? ’ 

‘ Because, Sir, those who come, if they come, will never 
land at Mouthmill ; if they are strangers, they dare not ; and 
if they are bay’s-men, they are too wise, as long as the westerly 
swell sets in. As for landing at the town, that would be too 
great a risk ; but Freshwater is as lonely as the Bermudas; 
and they can beach a boat up under the cliff at all tides, and 
in all weathers, except north and nor’west. I have done it 
many a time, when I was a boy.’ 

‘ And give us the fruit of your experience now in your old 
age, eh ? Well, you have a gray head on green shoulders, my 
lad ; and I verily believe you are right. Who will you take 
with you to watch ? ’ 

‘ Sir,’ said Frank, ‘ 1 will go with my brother, and that will be 
enough.’ 

‘ Enough ? He is big enough, and you brave enough, for 
ten ; but still, the more the merrier.*' 

‘ But the fewer, the better fare. If I might ask a first and 
last favor, worshipful Sir,’ said Frank very earnestly, ‘ you 
would grant me two things ; that you would let none go to 
Freshwater but me and my brother ; and that whatsoever we 
shall bring you back, shall be kept as secret as the common- 
weal and your loyalty shall permit. I trust that we are not so 
unknown to you, or to others, thjit you can doubt for a moment 
but that whatsoever we may do will satisfy at once your honor 
and our own.’ 

‘ My dear young gentleman, there is no need of so many 
courtier’s words. 1 am your father’s friend, and yours. And 
God forbid that a Cary — for I guess your drift — should ever 
wish to make a head or a heart ache ; that is, more than — ’ 

‘ Those of whom it is written, “ Though thou bray a fool in a 
mortar, yet will not his folly depart from him,” ’ interposed 
Frank, in so sad atone that no one at the table replied ; and 
few more words were exchanged, till the two brothers were 
safe outside the house ; and then — 

‘ Amyas,’ said Frank, ‘that was a Devon man’s handiwork, ‘ 
nevertheless ; it was Eustace’s handwriting.’ 

‘ Impossible ! ’ 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


99 


‘ No, lad. I have been secretary to a prince and learnt to 
interpret cipher, and to watch every pen stroke ; and, young as 
I am, I think that I am not easily deceived. Would God I 
were ! Come on, lad ; and strike no man hastily, lest thou cut 
off thine own flesh.’ 

So forth the two went, along the park to the eastward, and 
passed the head of the little wood-embosomed fishing-town, a 
steep stair of houses clinging to the cliff* far below them, the 
bright slate roofs and white walls glittering in the moonlight ; 
and on some half mile further, along the steep hill-side, fenced 
with oak-wood down to the water’s edge, by a narrow forest 
path, to a point where two glens meet and pour their streamlets 
over a cascade some hundred feet in height into the sea below. 
By the side of this waterfall a narrow path climbs upward from 
the beach ; and here it was that the two brothers expected to 
meet the messenger. 

Frank insisted on taking his station below Amyas. He said 
that he was certain that Eustace himself would make his ap- 
pearance, and that he was more fit than Amyas to bring him to 
reason by parley ; that if Amyas would keep watch some 
twenty yards above, the escape of the messenger would be im- 
possible. Moreover, he was the elder brother, and the post of 
honor was his right. So Amyas obeyed him, after making him 
promise that if more than one man came up the path, he 
would let them pass him before he challenged, so that both 
might bring them to bay at the same time. 

So Amyas took his station under a' high marl bank, and, 
bedded in luxuriant crown-ferns, kept his eye steadily on Frank, 
who sat down on a little knoll of rock (where is now a garden 
on the cliff-edge) which parts the path and the dark chasm 
down which the stream rushes -to its final leap over the cliff. 

There Amyas sat a full half hour, and glanced at whiles from 
Frank to look upon the scene around. Outside the south-west 
wind blew fresh and strong, and the moonlight danced upon a 
thousand crests of foam ; but within the black jagged ^point 
which sheltered the town, the sea did but heave, in long oily 
swells of rolling silver, onward into the black shadow of the 
hills, within which the town and pier lay invisible, save where 
a twinkling light gave token of some lonely fisher’s wife, 
watching the weary night through for the boat which would re- 
turn with dawn. Here and there upon the sea, a black speck 
marked a herring-boat drifting with its line of nets ; and right 
off the mouth of the glen, Amyas saw, with a beating heart, a 
large two-masted vessel lying-to — that must be the ‘ Portugal ! ’ 
Eagerly he looked up the glen, and listened ; but he heard 


100 


CLOVELLY COURT 


nothing but the sweeping of the wind across the downs five 
hundred feet above, and the sough of the waterfall upon the 
rocks below ; he saw nothing but the vast black sheets of oak- 
wood sloping up to the narrow blue sky above, and the broad 
bright hunter’s moon, and the wood-cocks, which, chuckling to 
each other, hawked to and fro, like swallows, between the tree- 
tops and the sky. 

At last he heard a rustle of the fallen leaves ; he shrank 
closer and closer into the darkness of the bank. Then swift 
light steps — not down the path, from above, but upward, from 
below ; his heart beat quick and loud. And in another half 
minute a man came in sight, within three yards of Frank’s 
hiding place. 

Frank sprang out instantly. Amyas saw his bright blade 
glance in the clear October moonlight. 

‘ Stand, in the Queen’s name ! ’ 

The man drew a pistol from under his cloak, and fired full in 
his face. Had it happened in these days of detonators, Frank’s 
chance had been small ; but to get a ponderous wheel-lock un- 
der weigh was a longer business, and before the fizzing of the 
flint had ceased, Frank had struck up the pistol with his rapier, 
and it exploded harmlessly over his head. The man instantly 
dashed the weapon in his face, and closed. 

The blow, luckily, did not take effect on that delicate fore- 
head, but struck him in the shoulder : nevertheless, Frank, who 
with all his grace and agility was as fragile as a lily, and a 
very bubble of the earth, staggered, and lost his guard, and 
before he could recover himself, Amyas saw a dagger gleam, 
and one, two, three blows fiercely repeated. 

Mad with fury, he was with them in an instant. They were 
scuffling together so closely in the shade that he was afraid to 
use his sword point ; but with the hilt he dealt a single blow 
full on the ruffian’s cheek. It was enough ; with a hideous 
shriek, the fellow rolled over at his feet, and Amyas set his 
foot on him, in act to run him through. 

‘ Stop ! stay ! ’ almost screamed Frank ; ‘ it is Eustace ! our 
cousin Eustace ! ’ and he leant against a tree. 

Amps sprang towards him : but Frank waved him off. 

‘ It is nothing — a scratch. He has papers : I am sure of it. 
Take them ; and for God’s sake let him go ! ’ 

Villain ! give me your papers ! ’ cried Amyas, setting his 
foot once more on the writhing Eustace, whose jaw was broken 
across. 

‘ You struck me foully from behind,’ moaned he, his vanity 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 101 

and envy even then coming out, in that faint and foolish 
attempt to prove Amyas not so very much better a man. 

‘ Hound, do you think that I dare not strike you in front ? 
Give me your papers, letters, whatever Popish devilry you 
carry, or as I live, I will cut off your head, and take them my- 
self, even if it cost me the shame of stripping your corpse. 
Give them Up ! Traitor, murderer ! give them, I say!’ And 
setting his foot on him afresh, he raised his sword. 

Eustace was usually no craven ; but he was cowed. Be- 
tween agony and shame, he had no heart to resist. Martyrdom, 
which looked so splendid when consummated seJon les regies 
on Tower Hill or Tyburn, before pitying, or (still better) 
scoffing multitudes, looked a confused, dirty, ugly business 
there in the dark forest ; and as he lay, a stream of moonlight 
bathed his mighty cousin’s broad clear forehead, and his long 
golden locks, and his white terrible blade, till he seemed, to 
Eustace’s superstitious eye, like one of those fair young St. 
Michaels trampling on the fiend, which he had seen abroad 
in old German pictures. He shuddered ; pulled a packet from 
his bosom, and threw it from him, murmuring, ‘ I have not 
given it.’ 

‘ Swear to me that these are all the papers which you have, 
in cipher or out of cipher. Swear on your soul, or you die ! ’ 

Eustace swore. 

‘ Tell me, who are your accomplices } ’ 

‘ Never ! ’ said Eustace. ‘ Cruel ! have you not degraded 
me enough already } ’ and the wretched young man burst into 
tears, and hid his bleeding face in his hands. 

One hint of honor made Amyas as gentle as a lamb. He 
lifted Eustace up, and bade him run for his life. 

‘ I am to owe my life, then, to you ? ’ 

‘ Not in the least ; only to your being a Leigh. Go, or it 
will be worse for you 1 ’ And Eustace went ; while Amyas, 
catching up the precious packet, hurried to Frank. He had 
fainted already, and his brother had to carry him as far as the 
park, before he could find any of the other watchers. The 
blind, as far as they were concerned, was complete. They 
had heard and seen nothing. Whosoever had brought the 
packet had landed they knew not where ; and so all returned 
to the Court, carrying Frank, who recovered gradually, having 
rather bruises than wounds ; for his foe had struck wildly, and 
with a trembling hand. 

Plalf an hour after, Amyas, Mr. Cary, and his son George 
were in deep consultation ovel* the following Epistle, the only 
paper in the packet which was not in cipher : — 

9 * 


102 


CLOVELLY COURT 


‘ ^ Dear Brother N. S. in Chi'* et Ecclesia, 

* This is to inform you, and the friends of the cause, that 
S. Josephus has landed in Smerwick, with eight hundred 
valiant Crusaders, burning with holy zeal to imitate last year’s 
martyrs of Carrigfolium, and to expiate their offences (which 
I fear may have been many) by the propagation of our most 
holy faith. I have purified the fort (which they are strenuously 
rebuilding) with prayer and holy water, from the stain of 
heretical footsteps, and consecrated it afresh to the service of 
Heaven, as the first fruits of the isle of saints ; and having dis- 
played the consecrated banner to the adoration of the faithful, 
have returned to Earl Desmond, that I may establish his faith, 
weak as yet, by reason of the allurements of this world : though 
since, by the valor of his brother James, he that hindered was 
taken out of the way, (I mean Davils the heretic, sacrifice well- 
pleasing in the eyes of heaven !) the young man has lent a 
more obedient ear to my counsels. If you can do anything, do 
it quickly, for a great door and effectual is opened, and there 
are many adversaries. But be swift, for so do the poor lambs 
of the Church tremble at the fury of the heretics, that a hun- 
dred will flee before one Englishman. And indeed, were it 
not for that divine charity toward the Church (which covers the 
multitude of sins) with which they are resplendent, neither they 
nor their country would be, by the carnal judgment, counted 
worthy of so great labor in their behalf. For they themselves 
are given much to lying, -theft, and drunkenness, vain babbling, 
and profane dancing and singing ; and are still, as S. Hildas 
reports of them, “ more careful to shroud their villanous faces 
in bushy hair, than decently to coVer their bodies ; ” while 
their land (by reason of the tyranny of their chieftains, and the 
continual wars and plunderings among their tribes, which leave 
them weak and divided, an easy prey to the myrmidons of the 
excommunicate and usurping Englishwoman) lies utterly waste 
with fire, and defaced with corpses of the starved and slain. 
But what are these things, while the holy virtue of Catholic 
obedience still flourishes in their hearts The Church cares 
not for the conservation of body and goods, but of immortal 
souls, 

‘If any devout lady shall so will, you may obtain from her 
liberality a shirt for this worthless tabernacle, and also a pair 
of hose ; for I am unsavory to myself and to others, and of 
such luxuries none here has superfluity ; for all live in holy 
poverty, except the fleas^, who h^ve that consolation in this 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


103 


world, for which this unhappy nation, and those who labor 
among them, must wait till the world to come.'^ 

‘ Your loving Brother, 

‘N. S.’ 

‘ Sir Richard must know of this before day-break,’ cried old 
Cary. ‘Eight hundred men landed! We must call out the 
Posse Comitatus, and sail with them bodily. I will go myself, 
old as I am. ^ Spaniards in Ireland ? not a dog of them must 
go home again.’ 

‘ Not a dog of them,’ answered Will ; ‘ but where is Mr. 
Winter and his squadron ? ’ 

‘ Safe in Milford Haven ; a messenger must be sent to him, 
too.’ 

‘ I’ll go,’ said Amyas : ‘ but Mr. Cary is right. Sir Richard 
must know all first.’ 

‘ And we must have those Jesuits.’ 

‘What.^* Mr. Evans and Mr. Morgan.? God help us — they 
are at my uncle’s ! Consider the honor of our family I ’ 

‘ Judge for yourself, my dear boy,’ said old Mr. Cary, gently : 
‘ would it not be rank treason to let these foxes escape, while 
we have this damning proof against them .? ’ 

‘ I will go myself, then.’ 

‘ Why not ? You may keep all straight, and Will shall go 
with you. Call a groom. Will, and get your horse saddled, 
and my Yorkshire gray ; he will make better play with this 
big fellow on his back, than the little pony astride of w'hich 
Mr. Leigh came walking in (as I hear) this morning. As for 
Frank, the ladies will see to him well enough, and glad enough, 
too, to have so fine a bird in their cage for a week or two.’ 

‘ And my mother .? ’ 

‘We’ll send to her to-morrow by day-break. Come, a stirrup 
cup to start with, hot and hot. Now, boots, cloaks, swords, 
a deep pull and a warm one, and away 1 ’ 

And the jolly old man bustled them out of the house and into 
their saddles, under the broad bright winter’s moon. 

‘ You must make your pace, lads, or the moon will be down 
before you are over the moors.’ And so away they went. 

Neither of them spoke for many a mile. Amyas, because 
his mind was fixed firmly on the one object of saving the honor 
of his house ; and Will, because he was hesitating between 
Ireland and the wars, and Rose Salterne and love-making. At 
last he spoke suddenly. 

‘ I’ll go, Amyas.’ 

* See Note at end of Chapter. 


104 


CLOVELLY COURT 


‘ Whither ? ’ 

‘ To Ireland with you, old man. I have dragged my anchor 
at last.’ 

‘ What anchor, my lad of parables ? ’ 

* See, here am I, a tall and gallant ship.’ 

‘ Mo.dest, even if not true.’ 

‘ Inclination, like an anchor,' holds me tight.’ 

‘ To the mud.’ 

‘ Nay, to a bed of roses — not without their thorns.’ 

‘ Hillo ? I have seen oysters grow on fruit-trees before now, 
but never an anchor in a rose-garden.’ 

‘Silence, or my allegory will go to noggin-staves.’ 

‘ Against the rocks of my flinty discernment.’ 

‘Pooh — well. Up comes duty like a jolly breeze, blowing 
dead from the north-east, and as bitter and cross as a north- 
easter too, and tugs me away toward Ireland. I hold on by 
the rose-bed — any ground in a storm — till every strand is 
parted, and off* I go, westward ho ! to get my throat cut in a 
bog-hole with Amyas Leigh.’ 

‘ Earnest, Will ? ’ 

‘ As I am a sinful man.’ 

‘ Well done, young hawk of the White Cliff! ’ 

‘ I had rather have called it Gallantry Bower still, though,’ 
said Will, punning on the double name of the noble precipice 
which forms the highest point of the deer park. 

‘ Well, as long as you are on land, you know it is Gallantry 
Bower still : but we always call it White Cliff* when you see it 
from the sea-board, as you and I shall do, I hope, to-morrow 
evening.’ 

‘ What, so soon > ’ 

‘ Dare we lose a day ? ’ 

‘ I suppose not : heigh-ho 1 ’ 

And they rode on again in silence, Amyas in the meanwhile 
being not a little content (in spite of his Iqte self-renunciation) 
to find that one of his rivals at least was going to raise the 
siege of the Rose Garden for a few months, and withdraw his 
forces to the coast of Kerry. 

As they went over Bursdon, Amyas pulled up suddenly. 

‘ Did you not hear a horse’s step on our left ? ’ 

‘ On our left — coming up from Welsford Moor ? Impossible 
at this time of night. It must have been a stag, or a sownder 
of wild swine : or may be only an old cow.’ 

‘ It was the ring of iron, friend. Let us stand and watch.’ 

Bursdon and Welsford were then, as now, a rolling range of 
dreary moors, unbroken by tor or tree, or anything save few 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


105 


and far between a world-old furze-bank, which marked the 
common rights of some distant cattle farm, and crossed then, 
not as now, by a decent road, but by a rough confused track- 
way, the remnant of an old Roman road from Clovelly dikes 
to Launceston. To the left it trended down towards a lower 
range of moors, which form the water-shed of the heads of 
Torridge ; and thither the two young men peered down over 
the expanse of bog and furze, which glittered for miles beneath 
the moon, one sheet of frosted silver, in the heavy autumn 
dew. 

‘ If any of Eustace’s party are trying to get home from Fresh- 
water, they might save a couple of miles by coming across 
Welsford, instead of going by the main track, as we have 
done.’ So said Amyas, who though (luckily for him) no 
‘ genius,’ was cunning as a fox in all matters of tactic and 
practic, and would have in these days proved his right to be 
considered an intellectual person by being a thorough man of 
business. 

‘ If any of his party are mad, they’ll try it, and be stogged 
till the day of judgment. There are bogs in the bottom twenty 
feet deep. Plague on the fellow ! whoever he is, he has dodged 
us ! Look there ! ’ 

It was too true. The unknown horseman had evidently dis- 
mounted below, and led his horse up on the other side of a 
long furze-dike ; till coming to the point where it turned away 
again from his intended course, he appeared against the sky, 
in the act of leading his nag over a gap. 

‘ Ride like the wind ! ’ and both youths galloped across furze 
and heather at him ; but ere they were within a hundred yards 
of him, he had leapt again on his horse, and was away far 
ahead. 

‘ There is the dor to us, with a vengeance,’ cried Cary, put- 
ting in the spurs. 

‘ It is but a lad ; we shall never catch him.’ 

‘ I’ll try, though ; and do you lumber after as you can, old 
heavysides ; ’ and Cary pushed forward. 

Amyas lost sight of him for ten minutes, and then came up 
with him dismounted, and feeling disconsolately at his horse’s 
knees. 

‘ Look for my head. It lies somewhere about among the 
furze there ; and oh ! I am as full of needles as ever was a 
pincushion.’ 

‘ Are his knees broken ? ’ 

‘ I daren’t look. No, I believe not. Come along, and make 


106 


CLOVELLY COURT 


the best of a bad matter. The fellow is a mile ahead, and to 
the right, too.’ 

‘He is going for Moorwinstow, then ; but where is my 
cousin ? ’ 

‘ Behind us, I dare say. We shall nab him at least.’ 

‘ Cary, promise me that if we do, you will keep out of sight, 
and let me manage him.’ 

‘ My boy, I only want Evan- Morgans and Morgan Evans. 
He is but the cat’s-paw, and we are after the cats themselves.’ 

_ And so they went on other dreary six miles, till the land 
trended downwards, showing dark glens and masses of wood- 
land far below. 

‘ Now, then, straight to Chapel, and stop the foxes’ earth ? 
Or through the King’s park to Stow, and get out Sir Richard’s 
hounds, hue and cry, and Queen’s warrant in proper form ? ’ 

‘ Let us see Sir Richard first ; and whatsoever he decides 
about my uncle, I will endure as a loyal subject must.’ 

So they rode through the King’s park, while Sir Richard’s 
colts came whinnying and staring round the intruders, and 
down through a rich woodland lane five hundred feet into the 
valley, till they could hear the brawling of the little trout-stream, 
and beyond, the everlasting thunder of the ocean surf. 

Down through warm woods, all fragrant with dying autumn 
flowers, leaving far above the keen Atlantic breeze, into one 
of those delicious western Coombs, and so past the mill, and 
the little knot of flower-clad cottages. In the window of one 
of them a light was still burning. The two young men knew 
well whose window that was ; and both hearts beat fast ; for 
Rose Salterne slept, or rather seemed to wake, in that cham- 
ber. 

‘ Folks are late in Coomb to-night,’ said Amyas. as carelessly 
as he could. 

- Cary looked earnestly at the window, and then sharply 
enough at Amyas ; but Amyas was busy settling his stirrup ; 
and Cary rode on, unconscious that every fibre in his compan- 
ion’s huge frame was trembling like his own. 

‘ Muggy and close down here,’ said Amyas, who in reality 
was quite faint with his own inward struggles. 

‘ We shall be at Stow gate in five minutes,’ said Cary, look- 
ing back and down longingly as his horse climbed the opposite 
hill ; but a turn of the zigzag road hid the cottage, and the 
next thought was, how to effect an entrance into Stow at three 
in the morning without being eaten by the ban-dogs, who 
were already howling and growling at the sound of the horse- 
hoofs. 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


107 


However, they got safely in, after much knocking and call- 
ing, through the postern-gate in the high west wall, into a man- 
sion, the description whereof I must defer to the next chapter, 
seeing that the moon has already sunk into the Atlantic, and 
there is darkness over land and sea^ 

Sir Richard, in his long gown, was soon down stairs in the 
hall ; the letter read, and the story told ; but ere it was half 
finished, — 

‘ Anthony, call up a groom, and let him bring me a horse 
round. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me five minutes, I shall 
be at your service.’ 

‘ You will not go alone, Richard?’ asked Lady Grenvile, 
putting her beautiful face, in its nightcoif, out of an adjoining 
door. 

‘Surely, sweet chuck, we three are enough to take two poor 
polecats of Jesuits. Go in, and help me to boot and gird.’ 

In half an hour they were down and up across the valley 
again, under the few low ashes dipt flat by the sea breeze which 
stood round the lonely gate of Chapel. 

‘ Mr. Cary, there is a back path across the downs to Mars- 
land ; go and guard that.’ Cary rode off; and Sir Richard, as 
he knocked loudly at the gate, — 

‘ Mr. Leigh, you see that I have consulted your honor, and 
that of your poor uncle, by adventuring thus alone. What 
will you have me do now, which may not be unfit for me and 
you ? ’ 

‘ Oh, Sir ! ’ said Amyas, with tears in his honest eyes, ‘ you 
have shown yourself once more what you always have been, — 
my dear and beloved master on earth, not second even to my 
Admiral Sir Francis Drake.’ 

‘ Or the Queen, I hope,’ said Grenvile, smiling ; ‘butjsocas 
palabras. What will you do ? ’ 

‘ My wretched cousin. Sir, may not have returned — and if I 
might watch for him on the main road — unless you want me 
with you.’ 

‘ Richard Grenvile can walk alone, lad. But what will you 
do with your cousin ? ’ 

‘ Send him out of the country, never to return ; or if he 
refuses, run him through on the spot.’ 

‘ Go, lad.’ And as he spoke, a sleepy voice asked inside the 
gate, ‘ Who was there ? ’ 

‘ Sir Richard Grenvile. Open, in the Queen’s name ! ’ 

‘ Sir Richard ? He is in his bed, and be hanged to you. No 
honest folk come at this hour of night.’ 

‘ Amyas ! ’ shouted. Sir Richard. Amyas rode back. 


108 


CLOVELLY COURT 


‘ Burst that gate for me, while I hold your horse.’ 

Amyas leaped down, took up a rock from the roadside, such 
as Homer’s heroes used to send at each other’s heads, and in 
an -instant the door was flat on the ground, and the serving 
man on his back inside, while Sir Richard quietly entering over 
it, like Una into the hut, told the fellow to get up and hold his 
horse for him (which the clod, who knew well enough that ter- 
rible voice, did without further murmurs), and then strode straight 
to the front door. It was already open. The household had 
been up and about all along, or the noise at the entry had 
aroused them. 

Sir Richard knocked, however, at the open door; and, to his 
astonishment, his knock was answered by Mr. Leigh himself, 
fully dressed, and candle in hand. 

‘ Sir Richard Grenvile ! What, Sir ! is this neighborly, not 
to say gentle, to break into my house in the dead of night ? ’ 

‘ I broke your outer door. Sir, because I was refused entrance 
when I asked in the Queen’s name. I knocked at your inner 
one, as I should have knocked at the poorest cottager’s in the 
parish, because I found it open. You have two Jesuits here, 
Sir ! and here is the Queen’s warrant for apprehending them. 
I have signed it with my own hand, and, moreover, serve it 
now with my own hand, in order to save you scandal — and it 
may be, worse. I must have these men, Mr. Leigh.’ 

‘ My dear Sir Richard ! ’ 

‘ I must have them, or I must search the house ; and you 
would not put either yourself or me to so shameful a necessity ? ’ 

‘ My dear Sir Richard ! ’ 

‘ Must I, then, ask you to stand back from your own door- 
way, my dear Sir?’ said Grenvile. And then changing his 
voice to that fearful lion’s roar, for which he was famous, and 
which it seemed impossible that lips so delicate could utter, he 
thundered, ‘ Knaves behind there ! Back ! ’ 

This was spoken to half-a-dozen grooms and serving men, 
who, well armed, were clustered in the passage. 

‘ What ? swords out, you sons of cliff rabbits ? ’ And in a 
moment. Sir Richard’s long blade flashed out also, and putting 
Mr. Leigh gently aside, as if he had been a child, he walked 
up to the party, who vanished right and left ; having expected 
a cur dog, in the shape of a parish constable, and come upon a 
lion instead. They were stout fellows enough, no doubt, in 
a fair fight : but they had no stomach to be hanged in a row at 
Launceston Castle, after a preliminary running through the 
body by that redoubted Admiral and most unpeaceful justice of 
the peace. 


IN THE OLDEN TIME. 


109 


‘ And now, my dear Mr. Leigh,’ said Sir Richard, as blandly 
.as ever, ‘ where are my men ? The night is cold ; and you, as 
well as I, need to be in our beds.’ 

‘ The mGn, Sir Richard — the Jesuits — they are not here, in- 
deed.’* 

‘ Not here. Sir ? ’ 

‘ On the word of a gentleman, they left my house an hour 
ago. Believe me. Sir, they did. I will swear to you, if you 
need.’ 

‘ I believe Mr. Leigh of Chapel’s word without oaths. Whither 
are they gone .? ’ 

‘ Nay, Sir — how can I tell .? they are — they are, as I may 
say, fled. Sir ; escaped.’ 

‘ With your connivance ; at least with your son’s. Where 
are they gone ? ’ 

‘ As I live, I do not know.’ 

‘ Mr. Leigh — is this possible >' Can you add untruth to that 
treason from the punishment of which I am trying to shield 
you ? ’ 

Poor Mr. Leigh burst into tears. 

‘ Oh ! my God ! my God ! is it come to this ? Over and 
above having the fear and anxiety of keeping these black 
rascals in my ho'use, and having to stop their villanous mouths 
every minute, for fear they should hang me and themselves, I 
am to be called a traitor and a liar in my old age, and that, too, 
by Richard Grenvile ! Would God I had never been born ! 
Would God I had no soul to be saved, and I’d just go and drown 
care in drink, and let the Queen and the Pope fight it out their 
own way ! ’ And the poor old man sank down into a chair, and 
covered his face with his hands, and then leaped up again. 

‘ Bless my heart ! Excuse me. Sir Richard — to sit down 
and leave you standing. ’Slife, Sir, sorrow is making a haw- 
buck of me. Sit down, my dear Sir ! my worshipful Sir ! or, 
rather, come with me into my room, and hear a poor wretched 
man’s story, for I swear before God the men are fled ; and my 
poor boy Eustace is not home either ; and the groom tells me 
that his devil of a cousin has broken his jaw for him ; and his 
mother is all but mad this hour past. Good lack ! good lack !’ 

‘ He nearly murdered his angel of a cousin. Sir ! ’ said Sir 
Richard severely. 

‘ What, Sir ? They never told me.’ 

‘ He had stabbed his cousin Frank three times^ Sir, before 
Amyas, who is as noble a lad as walks God’s earth, struck him 
down. And in defence of what, forsooth, did he play the 
ruffian and the swashbuckler, but to bring home to your house 
10 


110 CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME. 

\ 

this letter, Sir, which you shall hear at your leisure, the mo- 
ment I have taken order about your priests.’ And walking out 
of the house, he went round and called to Gary to come to him. 

‘ The birds are flown. Will,’ whispered he. ‘ Th6re is but 
one chance for us, and that is Marsland Mouth. If they are 
trying to take boat there, you may be yet. in time. If they are 
gone inland, we can do nothing till we raise the hue and cry 
to-morrow.’ 

And Will galloped off over the downs toward Marsland, 
while Sir Richard ceremoniously walked in again, and professed 
himself ready and happy to have the honor of an audience in 
Mr. Leigh’s private chamber. And as we know pretty well 
already what was to be discussed therein, we had better go 
over to Marsland Mouth, and, if possible, arrive there before 
Will Cary ; seeing that he arrived hot and swearing, half an 
hour too late. 


Note. — I have shrunk somewhat from giving these and other sketches 
(true and accurate as I believe them to be) of Ireland during Elizabeth’s 
reign, when the tyranny and lawlessness of the feudal chiefs had reduced 
the island to such a state of weakness and barbarism, that it was absolutely 
necessary for England either to crush the Norman-Irish nobility, and 
organize some sort of law and order, or to leave Ireland an easy prey to 
the Spaniards, or any other nation which should go to war wdth us. The 
work was done — clumsily rather than cruelly ; but wrongs were inflicted, 
and avenged by fresh wrongs, and those by fresh again. May the memory 
of them perish forever ! It has been reserved for this age, and for the 
liberal policy of this age, to see the last ebullitions of Celtic excitability die 
out harmless and ashamed of itself, and to find that the Irishman, when he 
is brought as a soldier under the regenerative influence of law, discipline, 
self-respect, and loyalty, can prove himself a worthy rival of the more 
stern Norse-Saxon warrior. God grant that the military brotherhood 
between Irish and JSnglish, which is the especial glory of the present war, 
may be the germ of a brotherhood industrial, political, and hereafter, per- 
haps, religious also ; and that not merely the corpses of heroes, but the 
feuds and wrongs which have parted them for centuries, may lie buried, 
once and forever, in the noble graves of Alma and of Inkermann. 


THE COOMBS OF THE FAR WEST. 


Ill 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE COOMBS OF THE FAR WEST. 

‘ Far, far from hence 
The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay 
. Among the green Illyrian hills, and there 
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair. 

And by the sea, and in the brakes 
The grass is cool, the sea- side air 
Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers 
More virginal and sweet than ours. ’ 

^ Matthew Arnold. 

And even such are those delightful glens, which cut the high 
table land of the confines of Devon and Cornwall, and opening 
each through its gorge of down and rock, towards the bound- 
less Western Ocean. Each is like the other, and each is like 
no other English scenery. Each has its upright walls, inland 
of rich oak-wood, nearer the sea of dark green furze, then of 
smooth turf, then of weird black cliffs which range out right 
and left far into the deep sea, in castles, spires, and wings of 
jagged iron-stone. Each has its narrow strip of fertile meadow, 
its crystal trout-stream winding across and across from one hill- 
foot to the other ; its gray stone mill, with the water sparkling 
and humming round the dripping wheel ; its dark rock pools 
above the tide-mark, where the salmon-trout gather in from 
their Atlantic wanderings, after each autumn flood ; its ridge of 
blown sand, bright with golden trefoil and crimson lady’s finger ; 
its gray bank of polished pebbles, down which the stream rat- 
tles toward the sea below. Each has its black field of jagged 
shark’s-tooth rock which paves the cove from side to side, 
streaked with here and there a pink line of shell sand, and 
laced with white foam from the eternal surge, stretching in par- 
allel lines out to the westward, in strata set upright on edge, or 
tilted towards each other at strange angles by primeval earth- 
quakes ; such is the ‘ Mouth,’ as those coves are called ; and 
such the jaw of teeth which they display, one rasp of which 
would grind abroad the timbers of the stoutest ship. To land- 
ward, all richness, softness, and peace; to* seaward, a waste 


112 


THE COOMBS OF 


and howling wilderness of rock and roller, .barren to the fisher- 
man, and hopeless to the shipwrecked mariner. 

In only one of these ‘ Mouths ’ is a landing for boats, made 
possible by a long sea-wall of rock, which protects it from the 
rollers of the Atlantic; and that .Mouth is Marsland, the abode 
of the White Witch, Lucy Passmore ; whither, as Sir Richard 
Grenvile rightly judged, the Jesuits were gone. But before the 
Jesuits came, two other persons were standing on that lonely 
beach, under the bright October moon, namely. Rose Salterne 
and the White Witch herself ; for Rose, fevered with curiosity 
and superstition, and allured by the very wildness and possible 
danger of the spell, had kept her appointment; and a few 
minutes before midnight, stood on the gray shingle beach with 
her counsellor. 

‘ You be safe, enough here to-night. Miss. My old man is 
snoring sound abed, and there’s no other soul ever sets foot 
here o’ nights, except it be the mermaids now and then. Good- 
ness Father, where’s our boat } It ought to be up here on the 
pebbles.’ 

Rose pointed to a strip of sand some forty yards nearer the 
sea, where the boat lay. 

'■ Oh, the lazy old villain ! he’s been round the rocks after 
pollock this evening, and never taken the trouble to hale the 
boat up. I’ll trounce him for it when I get home. I only hope 
he’s made her fast where she is, that’s all ! He’s more plague 
to me than ever my money will be. O deary me ! ’ 

And the good wife bustled down toward the boat, with Rose 
behind her. 

‘ Iss, ’tis fast, sure enough ; and the oars aboard, too ! Well, 
I never ! Oh, the lazy thief, to leave they here to be stole ! 
I’ll just sit in the boat, dear, and watch mun, while you go 
down to the say ; for you must be all alone to yourself, you 
know, or you’ll see nothing. There’s the looking-glass ; now 
go, and dip your bread three times, and mind you don’t look to 
land or sea, before you’ve said the words, and looked upon the 
glass. Now, be quick, it’s just upon midnight.’ 

And she coiled herself up in the boat, while Rose went fal- 
tering down the strip of sand, some twenty yards further, and 
there slipping off her clothes, stood shivering and trembling for 
a moment before she entered the sea. 

She was between two walls of rock : that on her left hand, 
some twenty feet high, hid her in deepest shade; that on her 
right, though much lower, took the whole blaze of the midnight 
moon. Great festoons of olive and purple sea-weed hung from 
it, shading dark cracks and crevices, fit haunts for all the gob- 


THE FAR WEST. 


113 


lins of the sea. On her left hand, the peaks of the rock 
frowned down ghastly black ; on her right hand, far aloft, the 
downs slept bright and cold. 

The breeze had died away : not even a roller broke the per- 
fect stillness of the cove. The gulls were all asleep upon the 
ledges. Over all was a true autumn silence ; a silence which 
may be heard. She stood awed, and listened in hope of a sound 
which might tell her that any living thing beside herself existed. 

There was a faint bleat, as of a new-born lamb, high above her 
head ; she started and looked up. Then a wail from the cliffs, 
as of a child in pain, answered by another from the opposite 
rocks. They were but the passing snipe, and the otter calling 
to her brood: but to. her they were mysterious, supernatural, 
goblins come to answer to her call. Nevertheless, they only 
quickened her expectation ; and the witc.h had told her not to 
fear them. If she performed the rite truly, nothing would 
harm her ; but she could hear the beating of her own heart, as 
she stepped, mirror in hand, into the cold water, waded hastily, 
as far as she dare, and then stopped aghast. 

A ring of flame was round her waist ; every limb was bathed 
in lambent light ; all the multitudinous life of the autumn sea, 
stirred by her approach, had flashed suddenly into glory : — 

* And around her the lamps of the sea nymphs, 

Myriad fiery globes, swam heaving and panting, and rainbows, 

Crimson and azure and emerald, were broken in star-showers, lighting 
Far through the wine-dark depths of the crystal, the gardens of Nereus, 
Coral and sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the palms of the ocean.’ 

I 

She could see every shell which crawled on the white sand at 
her feet, every rock-fish which played in and out of the cran- 
nies, and stared at her with its broad bright eyes, while the 
great palmate oarweeds which waved along the chasm, half 
seen in the glimmering water, seemed to beckon her down with 
long brown hands to a grave amid their chilly bowers. She 
turned to flee ; but she had gone too far now to retreat ; hastily 
dipping her head three times, she hurried out to the sea-marge, 
and looking through her dripping locks at the magic-mirror, 
pronounced the incantation — 

‘ A maiden pure, here I stand. 

Neither on sea nor yet on land; 

Angels watch me on either hand. 

If you be landsman, come down the strand; 

If you be sailor, come up the sand ; 

If you be angel, come from the sky, 

Look in my glass, and pass me by. 

Look in my glass, and go from the shore; 

Leave me, but love me lor evermore.’ 

10 * 


114 


THE COOMBS OF 


The incantation was hardly finished ; her eyes were straining 
into the mirror, where, as may be supposed, nothing appeared 
but the sparkle of the drops from her own tresses ; when she 
heard rattling down the pebbles the hasty feet of men and 
•horses. 

She darted into a cavern of the high rock, and hastily drest 
herself ; the steps held on right to the boat. Peeping out, half 
dead with terror, she saw there four men, two of whom had 
just leaped from their horses, and turning them adrift, began to 
help the other two in running the boat down. 

Whereon, out of the stern-sheets, arose, like an angry ghost, • 
the portly figure of Lucy Passmore, and shrieked in shrillest 
treble, — 

‘ Eh ? ye villains, ye roogs, what do you want staling poor 
folks’ boats by night .like this ? ’ 

The whole party recoiled in terror, and one turned to run up 
the beach, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘ ’Tis a marmaiden 
— a marmaiden asleep in Willy Passmore’s boat ! ’ 

‘ I wish it were any sich good luck,’ she could hear Will say ; 

‘ ’tis my wife, oh dear ! ’ and he cowered down, expecting the 
hearty cuff which he received duly, as the White Witch, leap- 
ing out of the boat, dared any man to touch it, and thundered 
to her husband to go home to bed. 

The wily dame, as Rose well guessed, was keeping up this 
delay chiefly to gain time for her pupil : but she had also more 
solid reasons for making the fight as hard as possible ; for she, 
as well as Rose, had already discerned in the ungainly figure 
of one of the party, the same suspicious Welsh gentleman, on 
whose calling she had divined long ago ; and she was so loyal 
a subject, as to hold in extreme horror her husband’s meddling 
with such ‘ Popish skulkers ’ (as she called the whole party 
roundly to their face), unless on consideration of a very hand- 
some sum of money. In vain Parsons thundered, Campian 
entreated, Mr. Leigh’s groom swore, and her husband danced 
round in an agony of mingled fear and covetousness. 

‘ No,’ she cried, ‘ as I am an honest woman and loyal ! This 
is why you left the boat down to the shore, you old traitor, you, 
is it ? To help off sich noxious trade as this out of the hands 
of her Majesty’s quorom and rotulorum ? Eh ? Stand back, 
cowards ! Will you strike a woman ? ’ 

This last speech (as usual) was merely indicative of her in- 
tention to strike the men ; for, getting out one of the oars, she 
swung it round and round fiercely, and at last caught Father 
Parsons such a crack across the shins, that he retreated with a 
howl. 


THE FAR WEST. 


115 


‘ Lucy, Lucy ! ’ shrieked her husband, in shrillest Devon fal- 
setto, ‘ be you mazed ? Be you mazed, lass ? They promised 
me two gold nobles before I’d lend them the boot ? ’ 

‘ Tu ? ’ shrieked the matron, with a tone of ineffable scorn, 
‘ And 'do yu call yourself a man ? ’ 

‘Tu nobles ! tu nobles !’ shrieked he again, hopping about 
at oar’s length. 

‘ Tu ? And would you sell your soul under ten ? ’ 

‘ Oh, if that is it,’ cried poor Campian, ‘ give her ten, give her 
ten, brother Pars — Morgans, I mean ; and take care of your 
shins, “ Offa Cerbero,” you know — Oh, virago! “ Furens 
quid foemina possit ! ” Certainly she is some Lamia, some 
Gorgon, some ’ 

‘ Take that, for your Lamys and Gorgons to an honest 
woman 1 ’ and in a moment poor Campian’s thin legs were cut 
from under him, while the virago, ‘ mounting on his trunk 
astride,’ like that more famous one on Hudibras, cried, ‘ Ten 
nobles, or I’ll kep ye here till morning 1 ’ And the ten nobles 
were paid into her hand. 

And now the boat, its dragon guardian being pacified, was 
run down to the sea, and close past the nook where poor little 
Rose was squeezing herself into the furthest and darkest corner, 
among wet sea-weed and rough baniacles, holding her breath 
as they approached. 

They passed her, and the boat’s keel was already in the 
water ; Lucy had followed them close, for reasons of her own, 
and perceiving close to the water’s edge a dark cavern, cun- 
ningly surmised that it contained Rose, and planted her ample 
person right across its mouth, while she grumbled at her hus- 
band, the strangers, and, above all, at Mr. Leigh’s groom, to 
whom she prophesied pretty plainly Launceston jail and the 
gallows : while.the wretched serving-man, who would as soon 
have dared to leap off Welcoomb Clift', as to return railing for 
railing to the White Witch, in vain entreated her mercy, and 
tried, by all possible dodging, to keep one of the party between 
himself and her, lest her redoubted eye should ‘overlook’ him 
once more to his ruin. 

But the night’s adventures were not ended yet ; for just as 
the boat was launched, a faint hollow was heard upon the beach, 
and a minute after, a horseman plunged down the pebbles, and 
along the sand, and pulling his horse up on its haunches close 
to the terrified group, dropped, rather than leaped, from the 
saddle. 

The serving-man, though he dared not tackle a \yit?h, knew 


116 


THE COOMBS OF 


well enough how to deal with a swordsman ; and drawing, 
sprang upon the new comer; and then recoiled, — 

‘ God forgive me, it’s Mr. Eustace ! Gh, dear Sir, I took 
you for one of Sir Richard’s men ! Oh, Sir, you’re hurt ! ’ 

‘ A scratch, a scratch ! ’ almost moaned Eustace. ‘ Help 
me into the boat. Jack. Gentlemen, I must with you.’ 

‘ Not with us, surely, my dear son, vagabonds upon the face 
of the earth ? ’ said kind-hearted Campian. 

‘ With you, for ever. All is over here. Whither God and 
the cause lead ’ — and he staggered toward the boat. 

As he passed Rose, she saw his ghastly bleeding face, half 
bound up with a handkerchief, which could not conceal the 
convulsions of rage, shame, and despair, which twisted it from 
all its usual beauty. His eyes glared wildly round — and once, 
right into the cavern. They met hers, so full, and keen, and 
dreadful, that, forgetting that she was utterly invisible, the terri- 
fied girl was on the point of shrieking aloud. 

‘ He has overlooked me ! ’ said she, shuddering to herself, as 
she recollected his threat of yesterday. 

‘ Who has wounded you ? ’ asked Campian. 

‘ My cousin — Amyas — and taken the letter ! ’ 

‘ The devil take him, then ! ’ cried Parsons, stamping up and 
down upon the sand in fury. 

‘ Ay, curse him — you may ! I dare not ! He saved me — 
sent me here ! ’ — and, with a groan, he made an effort to enter 
the boat. 

‘ Oh, my dear young gentleman,’ cried Lucy Passmore, her 
woman’s heart bursting out at the sight of pain, ‘ you must not 
goo forth with a grane wound like to that. Do ye let me just 
bind mun up — do ye now ! ’ and she advanced. 

Eustace thrust her back. 

‘No! better bear it. I deserve it — devils!, I deserve it! 
On board, or we shall all be lost — William Cary is close 
behind me ! ’ 

And at that news the boat was thrust into the sea, faster than 
ever it went before, and only in time ; for it was but just round 
the rocks, and out of sight, when the rattle of Cary’s horse- 
hoofs was heard above. 

‘ That rascal of Mr. Leigh’s will catch it now, the Popish 
villain ! ’ said Lucy Passmore, aloud. ‘ You lie still there, dear 
life, and settle your sperrits ; you’m so safe as ever was rabbit 
to burrow. Pll see what happens, if I die for it ! ’ And so 
saying, she squeezed herself up through a cleft to a higher 
ledge, from whence she could see what passed in the valley. 


THE FAR WEST. 


117 . 


‘ There mun is ! in the meadow, trying to catch the horses ! 
There comes Mr. Cary ! Goodness Father, how a rid’th ! he’s 
over wall already ! Ron, Jack, ron then ! A’ll get to the 
river! No, a waint: Goodness Father! There’s Mr. Cary 
cotched mun ! A’s down, a’s down !’ 

‘ Is he dead ? ’ asked Rose, shuddering. 

‘ Iss, fegs, dead as nits I and Mr. Cary off his horse, standing 
overlhvvart mun ! No, a baint ! A’s up now. Suppose he 
was hit wi’ the flat. What ever is Mr. Cary tu ? Telling wi’ 
mun, a bit. O dear, dear, dear!’ 

‘ Has he killed him ? ’ cried poor Rose. 

‘ No, fegs, no ! kecking mun, kecking mun, so hard as ever 
was futeball ! Goodness Father, who did ever.^^ If a haven’t 
kecked mun right into river, and got on mun’s horse and rod 
away ! ’ 

And so saying, down she came again. 

‘ And now, then, my dear life, us be better to goo hoom and 
get you summat warm. You’m mortal cold, I rackon, by now. 
1 was cruel feard for ye ; but I Jcept mun off clever, didn’t I, 
now ? ’ 

‘ I w'ish — I wish I had not seen Mr. Leigh’s face !’ 

‘ Iss, dreadful, weren’t it, poor young soul ; a sad night for 
his poor mother I ’ 

‘ Lucy, I can’t get his face out of my mind. I’m sure he‘ 
overlooked me.’ 

‘ O, then ! who ever heard the like o’ that ? When young 
gentlemen do overlook young ladies, taint thikketheor aways, I 
knoo. Never yoti think on it.’ 

‘ But I can’t help thinking of it,’ said Rose. ‘ Stop. Shall 
we go home yet ? Where’s that servant ? ’ 

‘Never mind, he waint see us, here under the hill. I’d 
much sooner tO- know where my old man was. I’ve a sort of a 
forecasting in my inwards, like, as 1 always has when aught’s 
gwain to happen, as though I shuldn’t zee mun again, like, I 
have. Miss. Well — he was a bedient old soul, after all, he 
was. Goodness Father I and all this while us have forgot the 
very thing us come about ! Who did ye see ? ’ 

‘ Only that face ! ’ said Rose, shuddering. 

‘ Not in the glass, maid ? Say then, not in the glass > ’ 

‘ Would to heaven it had been ! Lucy, what if he were the 
man I was fated to ’ 

‘ He ? Why he’s a praste, a Popish praste, that can’t marry 
if he would, poor wratch.’ 

‘ He is none ; and I have cause enough to know it ! ’ And, 
for want of a better confidant, Rose poured into the willing 


118 


THE COOMBS OF THE FAR WEST. 


ears of her companion the whole story of yesterday’s meet- 
ing. 

‘ He’s a pretty wooer ! ’ said Lucy, at last, contemptuously. 
‘Be a brave maid, then, be a brave maid, and never terrify 
yourself with his unlucky face. It’s because there was none 
here worthy of ye, that ye seed none in the glass. Maybe he’s 
to be a foreigner, from over seas, and that’s why his sperrit was 
so long a coming. A duke, or a prince to the least. I’ll war- 
rant he’ll be, that carries off the Rose of Bideford.’ 

But in spite of all the good (fame’s flattery, Rose could not 
wipe that fierce face away from her eyeballs. She reached 
home safely, and crept to bed undiscovered ; and when the 
next morning, as was to be expected, found her laid up with 
something very like a fever, from excitement, terror, and cold, 
the phantom grew stronger and stronger before her, and it 
required all her woman’s tact and self-restraint to avoid betray- 
ing by her’ exclamations what had happened on that fantastic 
night. After a fortnight’s weakness, however, she recovered 
and went back to Bideford ; hut ere she arrived there, Amyas 
was far across the seas on his way to Milford Haven; as shall 
be told in the ensuing chapters. 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 119 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE TRUE ANI^ TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM 
OF PLYMOUTH. • ' 

‘ The fair breeze blew, "the white foam flew ; 

The furrow follow’d free ; , 

We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea.’ 

The Ancient Mariner, 

It was too late and too dark last night to see the old house 
at Stow. We will look round us, then, this bright October day, 
while Sir -Richard and Amyas, about eleven o’clock in the fore- 
noon, are pacing up and down the terraced garden to the south. 
Amyas has slept till luncheon, i. e. till an hour ago : but Sir 
Richard, in spite of the bustle of last night was up and in the 
valley by six o’clock, recreating the valiant souls of himself 
and two terrier dogs by the chase of sundry badgers. 

Old Stow House stands, or rather stood, some four miles be- 
yond the Cornish border, on the northern slope of the largest 
and loveliest of those Coombs, of which I spoke in the last 
chapter. Eighty years after Sir Richard’s time, there arose 
there a huge Palladian pile, bedizened with every monstrosity 
of bad taste, which was built, so the story runs, by Charles the ■ 
Second, for Sir Richard’s great grandson, the heir of that 
famous Sir Bevil who defeated 'the Parliamentary troops at 
Stratton, and died soon after, fighting valiantly at Lansdowne 
over Bath. But, like most other things which owed their exist- 
ence to the Stuarts, it rose only^to fall again. An old man 
who had seen, as a boy, the foundation of the new house laid, 
lived to see it pulled down again, and the very bricks and tim- 
ber sold upon the spot ; and since then the stables have become 
a farm-house, the tennis-court a sheep-cote, the great quad- 
rangle a rick-yard ; and civilization, spreading wave on wave 
so fast elsewhere, has surged back from that lonely corner of 
the land — let us hope, only for a while. 

But I am not writing of that great new Stow House, of the 
past glories whereof quaint pictures still hang in the neighbor- 


120 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


ing houses ; nor of that famed Sir Bevil, most beautiful and 
gallant of his generation, on whom, with his grandfather Sir 
Richard, old Prince has his pompous epigram, — 

* Where next shall famous Grenvile’s ashes stand ? 

Thy grandsire fills the sea, and thou the land.* 

I have to deal with a simpler age, and a sterner generation ; 
and with the old house, which had stood there, in part at least, 
from gray and mythic ages, when the first Sir Richard, son of 
Hamon Dentatus, Lord of Carboyle, the grandson of Duke 
Robert, son of Rou, settled at Bideford, after slaying the Prince 
of South Galis, and the Lord of Glamorgan, and gave to the 
Cistercian monks of Neath all*his conquests in South Wales. 
It was a huge rambling building, half castle, half dwelling- 
house, such as may be seen still (almost an unique specimen) 
in Compton Castle near Torquay, the dwelling place of Hum- 
phrey Gilbert, Walter Raleigh’s half-brother, and Richard 
Grenvile’s bosom friend, of whom more hereafter. On three 
sides, to the north, west, and south, the lofty walls of the old 
ballium still stood, with their machicolated turrets, loop-holes, 
and dark downward crannies for dropping stones and fire on 
the besiegers, the relics of a more unsettled age : but the 
southern court of the ballium had become a flower-garden, 
with quaint terraces, statues, knots of flowers, clipped yews 
and hollies, and all the pedantries of the topiarian art. And 
toward the east, where the vista of the valley opened,. the old 
walls were gone, and the frowning Norman keep, ruined in the 
wars of the Roses, had been replaced by the rich and stately 
architecture of the Tudors. Altogether, the house, like the 
time, was in a transitionary state, and represented faithfully 
enough the passage of the old middle age into the new life 
which had just burst into blossom throughout Europe, never, let 
us pray, to see its autumn or its winter. 

From the house on three sides, the hill sloped steeply down, 
and the garden where Sir Richard and Amyas were walking 
gave a truly English prospect. At one turn they could catch, 
over the western walls, a glimpse of the blue ocean flecked 
with passing sails; and at the next, spread far below them, 
range on range of fertile park, stately avenue, yellow autumn 
woodland, and purple heather, moors, lapping over and over 
each other up the valley to the old British earthwork, which 
stood black and furze-grown on its conical peak; and standing 
out against the sky on the highest bank of hill which closed the 
valley to the east,' the lofty tower of Kilkhampton church, rich 
with the monuments and offerings of five centuries of Gren- 


or MR* JOHN OXENHAM. 


121 


viles. A yellow eastern haze hung soft over park, and wood, 
and moor; the red cattle lowed to each other as they stood 
brushing away the flies in the rivulet far below ; the colts in the 
horse-park close on their right whinnied as they played to- 
gether, and their sires from the Queen’s Park, on the opposite 
hill, answered them in fuller, though fainter voices. A rutting 
stag made the still woodland rattle with his hoarse thunder, and 
a rival far up the valley gave back a trumpet-note of defiance, 
and was himself defied from heathery brows which quivered 
far away above, half seen through the veil of eastern mist. 
And close at home, upon the terrace before the house, amid 
romping spaniels and golden-haired children, sat lady Grenvile 
herself, the beautiful St. Leger of Annery, the central jewel 
of all that glorious place, and looked down at her noble children, 
and then up at her more noble husband, and round at that broad 
paradise of the west, till life seemed too full of happiness, and 
heaven of light. 

And all the while up and down paced Amyas and Sir Rich- 
ard, talking long, earnestly, and slow ; for they both knew that 
the turning point of the boy’s life was come. 

‘ Yes,’ said Sir Richard, after Amyas in his blunt simple 
way, had told him the whole story about Rose Salterne and his 
brother, — ‘ yes, sweet lad, thou hast chosen the better part, 
thou and thy brother also, and it shall not be taken from you. 
Only be strong, lad, and trust in God that he will make a man 
of you.’ 

‘ I do trust,’ said Amyas. 

‘ Thank God,’ said Sir Richard, ‘ that you have yourself 
taken from my heart that which was my great anxiety for you, 
from the day that your good father, who sleeps in peace, com- 
mitted you to my hands. For all best things, Amyas, become, 
when misused, the very worst; and the love of woman, because 
it is able to lift man’s soul to the heavens, is also able to drag 
him down to hell. But you have learned better, Amyas ; and 
know, with our old German forefathers, that as Tacitus saith, 
“ S^ra juvenum Venus^ ideoque inexhausta puberlas.^' And not 
only that, Amyas; but trust me, that silly fashion of the French 
and Italians, to be hanging ever at some woman’s apron-string, 
so that no boy shall count himself a man unless he can “ 
ghezziare le donne,''’ whether maids or wives, alas ! matters 
little ; that fashion, I say, is little less hurtful to the soul than 
open sin ; for by it are bred vanity and expense, envy and 
heart-burning, yea, hatred and murder often ; and even if that 
be escaped, yet the rich treasure of manly worship, which 
should be kept for one alone, is squandered and parted upon 
11 


122 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


many, and the bride at last comes in for nothing but the very last 
leavings and caput inortuum of her bridegroom’s heart,' and 
becomes a mere ornament for his table, and a means whereby 
he may obtain a progeny. May God, who has saved me from 
that death in life, save you also ! ’ And as he spoke, he looked 
down toward his wife upon the terrace below ; and she, as if 
guessing instinctively that he was talking of her, looked up 
with so sweet a smile, that Sir Richard’s stern face melted into 
a very glory of spiritual sunshine. 

Amyas looked at them both and sighed; and then turning 
the conversation suddenly, — 

‘And I may go to Ireland to-morrow ? ’ 

‘ You shall sail in the “ Mary ” for Milford Haven, with these 
letters to Winter. If the wind serves, you may bid the master 
drop down the river to-night, and be off ; for we must lose no 
time.’ 

‘ Winter ? ’ said Amyas. ‘ He is no friend of mine, since he 
left Drake and us cowardly at the Straits of Magellan.’ 

‘ Duty must not wait for private quarrels, even though they 
be just ones, lad ; but he will not be your general. When you 
come to the Marshal, or the Lord Deputy, give either of them 
this letter, and they will set you work, — and hard work, too, I 
warrant.’ 

‘ I want nothing better.’ 

‘ Right, lad ; the best reward for having wrought well 
already, is to have more to do ; and he that has been faithful 
over a few things, must find his account in being made ruler 
over many things. That is the true and heroical rest, which 
only is worthy of gentlemen and sons of God. As for those 
who, either in this world or the world to come, look for idle- 
ness, and hope that God shall feed them with pleasant things, 
as it were with a spoon, Amyas, I count them cowards and 
base, even though they call themselves saints and elect.’ 

I wish you could persuade my poor cousin of that.’ 

‘He has yet to learn what losing his life to save it means, 
Amyas. Bad men have taught him (and I fear these Anabap- 
tists and Puritans at home teach little else), that it is the one 
great business of every man to save his own soul after he dies, 
every one for himself ; and that that, and not divine self- 
sacrifice, is the one thing needful, and the better part which 
Mary chose.’ 

‘ I think men are inclined enough already to be selfish, with- 
out being taught that.’ 

‘ Right, lad. For me, if I could hang up such a teacher on 
high as an enemy of mankind, and a corrupter of youth, I 


OF ME. JOHN OXENHAM. 


123 


would do it gladly. Is there not cowardice and self-seeking 
enough about the hearts of us fallen sons of Adam, that these 
false prophets, with their baits of heaven, and their terrors of 
hell, must exalt our dirtiest vices into heavenly virtues and the 
means of bliss ? Farewell to chivalry and to desperate valor, 
farewell to patriotism and loyalty, farewell to England and to 
the manhood of England, if once it shall become the fashion of 
our preachers to bid every man, as the Jesuits do, take care 
first of what they call the safety of his soul. Every man will 
be afraid to die at his post, because he will be afraid that he is not . 
fit to die. Amyas, do thou do thy duty like a man, to thy country, 
thy Queen, and thy God ; and count thy life a worthless thing, 
as did the holy men of old. Do thy work, lad ; and leave thy 
soul to the care of Him who is just and merciful in this, that he 
rewards every man according to his work. Is there respect of 
persons with God ? Now come in, and take the letters, and to 
horse. And if I hear of thee dead there at Smervvick Fort, 
with all thy wounds in front, I shall weep for thy mother, lad ; 
but I shall have never a sigh for thee.’ 

If any one shall be startled at hearing a fine gentleman and 
a warrior like Sir Richard quote Scripture, and think Scripture 
also, they must be referred to the writings of the time ; which 
they may read not without profit to themselves, if they discover 
therefrom how it was possible then for men of the world to be 
thoroughly ingrained with the Gospel, and yet to be free from 
any taint of superstitious fear, or false devoutness. The re- 
ligion of those days was such that no soldier need have been 
ashamed of confessing. At least. Sir Richard died as he lived, 
without a shudder, and without a whine : and these were his 
last words, fifteen years after that, as he lay shot through and 
through, a captive among popish Spaniards, priests, crucifixes, 
confession, extreme unction, and all other means and appli- 
ances for delivering men out of the hands of a God of 
love : — 

‘ Here die I, Richard Grenvile, with a joyful and quiet mind ; 
for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought, fighting 
for his country, queen, religion, and honor : my soul willingly 
departing rrom this body, leaving behind the lasting fame of 
havinor behaved as every valiant soldier is in his duty bound to 
do.’ 

Those were the last words of Richard Grenvile. The pulpits 
of those days had taught them to him. 

But to return. That day’s events were not over yet. For, 
when they went down into the house, the first person whom 
they met was the old steward, in search of *his master. 


124 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


‘ There is a manner of roog, Sir Richard, a masterless man, 
at the door ; a very forward fellow, and must needs speak with 
you.’ 

‘ A masterless man ? He had better not to speak to me, 
unless he is in love with gaol and gallows.’ 

‘ Well, your worship,’ said the steward, ‘I expect that is what 
he does want, for he swears he will not leave the gate till he 
has seen you.’ 

‘ Seen me ? Halidame ! he shall see me, here and at Laun- 
ceston too, if he likes. Bring him in.’ 

‘ Pegs, Sir Richard, we are half afear’d, with your good 
leave — ’ 

‘ Hillo, Tony,’ cried Amyas, ‘ who was ever afear’d yet with 
Sir Richard’s good leave ? ’ 

‘ What, has the fellow a tail or horns ? ’ 

‘ Massy, no : but I be afear’d of treason for your honor ; for 
the fellow is pinked all over in heathen patterns, and as brown 
as a filbert ; and a tall roog, a very strong roog. Sir, and a 
foreigner, too, and a mighty staff with him. I expect him to be 
a manner of Jesuit, or wild Irish, Sir ; and indeed, the grooms 
have no stomach to handle him, nor the .dogs neither, or he 
had been under the pump before now, for they that saw him 
coming up the hill swear that he had fire coming out of his 
mouth.’ 

‘ Fire out of his mouth ? ’ said Sir Richard. ‘ The men are 
drunk.’ 

‘ Pinked all over } ’ He must be a sailor,’ said Amyas ; ‘ let 
me out and see the fellow, and if he needs putting forth — ’ 

‘ Why, I dare say he is not so big but what he will go into 
thy pocket. So go, lad, while I finish my writing.’ 

Amyas went out, and at the back door, leaning on his staff, 
stood a tall, rawboned, ragged man, ‘pinked all over,’ as the 
steward had said. 

‘ Hillo, lad ! ’ quoth Amyas. ‘Before we come to talk, thou 
wilt please to lay down that Plymouth cloak of thine.’ And he 
pointed to the cudgel, which, among west-country mariners, 
usually bore that name. 

‘ I’ll warrant,’ said the old steward, ‘ that where he found his 
cloak he found a purse not far off.’ 

‘ But not hose or doublet ; so the magical virtue of his staff 
has not helped him much. But put down thy staff, man, and 
speak like a Christian, if thou be one'.’ 

‘ I am a Christian, though 1 look like a heathen ; and no 
rogue, though a masterless man, alas ! But I want nothing. 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 125 

deserving nothing, and only ask to speak with Sir Richard, 
before I go on my way.’ 

There was something stately and yet humble about the man’s 
tone and manner which attracted Amyas, and he asked more 
gently where he was going and whence he came. 

‘ From Padstow Port, Sir, to Clovelly town, to see my old 
mother, if indeed she be yet alive, which God knoweth.’ 

‘ Clovally man ! why didn’t thee say thee Was Clovally man ? ’ 
asked all the grooms at once, to whom a west countryman was 
of course a brother. The old steward asked, — 

‘ What’s thy mother’s name, then ? ’ 

‘ Susan Yeo.’ 

‘ What, that lived under the archway ? ’ asked a groom. 

‘ Lived ? ’ said the man. 

‘ Iss, sure ; her’th been gone this winter two year, poor soul.’ 

The man stood quite silent and unmoved for a minute or 
two ; and then said quietly to himself, in Spanish, ‘That which 
is, is best.’ 

‘ You speak Spanish ? ’ asked Amyas, more and more inter- 
ested. 

‘ I had need to do so, young Sir ; I have been five years in 
the Spanish Main, and only set foot on shore two days ago ; 
and if you will let me have speech of Sir Richard, I will 
tell him that at which both the ears of him that heareth it shall 
tingle ; and if not, I can but go on to Mr. Cary of Clovelly, if 
he be yet alive, and there disburthen my soul : but I would 
sooner have spoken with one that is a mariner like to my- 
self.’ 

‘ And you shall,’ said Amyas. ‘ Steward, we will have this 
man in ; for all his rags, he is a man of wit.’ And he led 
him in. 

‘ I only hope he ben’t one of those popish murderers,’ said 
the old steward, keeping at a safe distance from him, as they 
entered the hall. 

‘ Popish, old master ? There’s little fear of my being that. 
Look here ! ’ And drawing back his rags, he showed a ghastly 
scar, which encircled his wrist and wound round and up his 
fore-arm. 

‘ I got that on the rack,’ said he quietly, ‘ in the Inquisition at 
Lima.’ 

‘ O Father ! Father ! why did’nt you tell us that you were a 
poor Christian ? ’ asked the penitent steward. 

‘ Because I have had nought but my deserts ; and but a taste 
of them either, as the Lord knoweth who delivered me ; and^I 

U* 


126 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


wasn’t going to make myself a beggar and a show on their 
account.’ 

‘ By heaven, you are a brave fellow,’ said Amyas. ‘ Come 
along straight to Sir Richard’s room.’ 

So in they went, where Sir Richard sat in his library among 
books, despatches, state-papers, and warrants ; for though he 
was not yet, as in after times (after the fashion of those days), 
admiral, general, member of parliament, privy councillor, jus- 
tice of the peace, and so forth, all at once, yet there were few 
great men with whom he did not correspond, or great matters 
with which he was not cognizant. 

‘ Hillo, Amyas, have you bound the wild man already, and 
brought him in to swear allegiance ? ’ 

But before Amyas could answer, the man looked earnestly 
on him — ‘ Amyas ? ’ said he ; ‘is that your name. Sir ? ’ 

‘ Amyas Leigh, is my name, at your service, good fellow.’ 

‘ Of Burrough, by Bideford ? ’ 

‘ Why, then ? What do you know of me ? ’ 

‘ Oh, Sir, Sir ! young brains and happy ones have short mem- 
ories ; but old and sad brains too, too long ones, often ! Do you 
mind one that was with Mr. Oxenham, Sir? a swearing repro- 
bate he was, God forgive him, and hath forgiven him, too, for 
his dear Son’s sake — one. Sir, that gave you a horn, a toy with 
a chart on it ? ’ 

‘ Soul alive ! ’ cried Amyas, catching him by the hand ; ‘ and 
are you he ? The horn ? why I have it still, and will keep it 
to my dying day, too. But where is Mr. Oxenham ? ’ 

‘Yes, my good fellow, where is Mr. Oxenham?’ asked Sir 
Richard, rising. ‘You are somewhat over-hasty in welcoming 
your old acquaintance, Amyas, before we have heard from him 
whether he can give honest account of himself, and of his cap- 
tain. For there is more than one way by which sailors may 
come home without their captains, as poor Mr. Barker of Bristol 
found to his cost. God grant that there may have been no such 
traitorous dealing here.’ 

‘ Sir Richard Grenvile, if I had been a guilty man to my 
noble captain, as I have to God, I had not come here this day 
to you, from whom villany has never found favor, nor ever 
will ; for I know your conditions well. Sir ; and trust in the 
Lord, that if you will be pleased to hear me, you shall know 
mine.’ 

‘ Thou art a well-spoken knave. We shall see.’ 

‘ My dear Sir,’ said Amyas in a whisper, ^ I will warrant this 
man guiltless,’ 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


127 


‘ I verily believe him to be ; but this is too serious a matter to 
be left on guess. If he will be sworn — ’ 

Whereon the man, humbly enough, said, that if it would 
please Sir Richard, he would rather not be sworn. 

‘ But it does not please me, rascal ! Did I not warn thee, 
Amyas ? ’ 

‘ Sir,’ said the man proudly, ‘ God forbid that my word should 
not be as good as my oath : but it is against my conscience to 
be sworn.’ 

‘ What have we here ? some fantastical Anabaptist, who is 
wiser than his teachers 

‘ My conscience. Sir — ’ 

‘ The devil take it and thee ! I never heard a man yet begin 
to prate of his conscience, but I knew that he was about to do 
something more than ordinarily cruel or false.’ 

‘ Sir,’ said the man, coolly enough, ‘ do you sit here to judge 
me according to law, and yet contrary to the law swear profane 
oaths, for which a fine is provided ? ’ 

Amyas expected an explosion ; but Sir Richard pulled a 
shilling out and put it on the table. ‘ There — my fine is paid, 
sirrah, to the poor of Kilkhampton : but hearken thou all the 
same. If thou wilt not speak on oath, thou shalt speak on 
compulsion ; for to Launceston gaol thou goest, there to answer 
for Mr. Oxenham’s death, on* suspicion whereof, and of mutiny 
causing it, I will attach thee and every soul of his" crew that 
comes home. We have lost too many gallant captains of late 
by treachery of their crews, and he that will not clear himself 
on oath, must be held for guilty, and self-condemned.’ 

‘ My good fellow,’ said Amyas, who could not *give up his 
belief in the man’s honesty ; ‘ why, for such fantastical scru- 
ples, peril not only your life, but your honor, and Mr. Oxen- 
ham’s also ? For if you be examined by question, you may be 
forced by torment to’say that which is not true.’ 

‘ Little fear of that, young Sir !’ answered he, with a grim 
smile ; ‘ 1 have had too much of the rack already, and the 
strappado, too, to care much what man can do unto me. I 
would heartily that I thought it lawful to be sworn : but not so 
thinking, I can but submit to the cruelty of man ; though I did 
expect more merciful things, as a most miserable and wrecked 
mariner, at the hands of one who hath himself seen God’s ways 
in the sea, and his wonders in the great deep. Sir Richard 
Grenvile, if you will hear my story, may God avenge on my 
head all my sins from my youth up until now, and cut me off 
from the blood of Christ, and, if it were possible, from the num- 


128 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


ber of his elect, if I tell you one whit more or less than truth ; 
and if not, I commend myself into the hands of God.’ 

Sir Richard smiled. ‘ Well, thou art a brave ass, and valiant, 
though an ass manifest. Dost thou not see, fellow, how thou 
hast sworn a ten-times bigger oath than ever I should have asked 
of thee > But this is the way with your Anabaptists, who, by 
their very hatred of forms and ceremonies, show of how much 
account they think them, and then bind themselves out of their 
own fantastical self-will with far heavier burdens than ever the 
lawful authorities have laid on them for the sake of the com- 
monweal. But what do they care for the commonweal as long 
as they can save, as they fancy, each man his own dirty soul 
for himself? However, thou art sworn now with a vengeance ; 
go on with thy tale : and first, Who art thou, and whence ? ’ 

‘ Well, Sir,’ said the man, quite unmoved by this last explo- 
sion ; ‘ my name is Salvation Yeo, born in Clovelly Street, in 
the year 1526, where my father exercised the mystery of a 
barber surgeon, and a preacher of the people since called Ana- 
baptists, for which I return humble thanks to God.’ 

Sir Richard. — Fie ! thou naughty knave ; return thanks 
that thy father was an ass ? 

Yeo. — Nay, but because he was a barber surgeon ; for I 
myself learnt a touch of that trade, and thereby saved my life, 
as I will tell presently. And I do think that a good mariner 
ought to have all knowledge of carnal and worldly cunning, 
even to tailoring and shoemaking, that he may be able to turn 
his hand to whatsoever may hap. 

Sir Richard. — Well spoken, fellow : but let us have thy 
text without thy comments. Forwards ! 

Yeo. — Well, Sir. I was bred to the sea from my youth, and 
was with Captain Hawkins in his three voyages, which he made 
to Guinea for negro slaves, and thence to the West Indies. 

Sir Richard. — Then thrice thou wentest to a bad end, 
though Captain Hawkins be my good friend ; and the last time 
to a bad end thou earnest. 

Yeo. — No denying that last, your worship : but as for the 
former, I doubt: — about the unlawfulness, I mean; being the 
negroes are of the children of Ham, who are cursed and repro- 
bate, as Scripture declares, and their blackness testifies, being 
Satan’s own livery ; among whom therefore there can be none 
of the elect, wherefore the elect are not required to treat them 
as brethren. 

Sir Richard. — What a plague of a pragmatical sea-lawyer 
have we here ? And 1 doubt not, thou hypocrite, that though 
thou wilt call the negroes’ black skin Satan’s livery, when it 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


129 


serves thy turn to steal them, thou wilt find out sables to be 
Heaven’s livery every Sunday, and up with a godly howl unless 
a parson shall preach in a black gown, Geneva fashion. Out 
upon thee ! Go on with thy tale, lest thou finish thy sermon at 
Launceston, after all. 

Yeo. — The Lord’s people were always a reviled people and 
a persecuted people : but I will go forward, Sir ; for Heaven 
forbid but that I should declare what God has done for me. 
Por till lately, from my youth up, I was given over to all 
wretchlessness and unclean living, and was by nature a child 
of the devil, and to every good work reprobate, even as 
others. 

Sir' Richard. — Hark to his ‘ even as others ! ’ Thou new- 
whelped Pharisee, canst not confess thine own villanies without 
making out others as bad as thyself, and so thyself no worse 
than others } I only hope that thou hast shown none of thy 
devil’s doings to Mr. Oxenham. 

Yeo. — On the word of a Christian man. Sir, as I said before, 
I kept true faith with him, and would have been a better friend 
to him. Sir, what is more, than ever he was to himself. 

Sir Richard. — Alas ! that might easily be. 

Yeo . — I think. Sir, and will make good against any man, 
that Mr. Oxenham was a noble and valiant gentleman ; true of 
his word, stout of his sword, skilful by sea and land, and wor- 
thy to have been Lord High Admiral of England (saving your 
worship’s presence), but that through two great sins, wrath and 
avarice, he was cast away miserably or ever his soul was brought 
to the knowledge of the truth. Ah, Sir, he was a Captain worth 
sailing under ! And Yeo heaved a deep sigh. 

Sir Richard. — Steady, steady, good fellow ! If thou wouldst 
quit preaching, thou art no fool, after all. But tell us the story 
without more bush-beating. 

So at last Yeo settled himself to his tale : — 

‘ Well, Sirs, I went as Mr. Leigh knows, to Nombre de Dios, 
with Mr. Drake and Mr. Oxenham, in 1572, where what we saw 
and did, your worship, I suppose, knows as well as I ; and there 
was, as you’ve heard, maybe, a covenant between Mr. Oxenham 
and Mr.Drake to sail the South Seas together, which they made, 
your worship, in my hearing, under the tree over Panama. For 
when Mr. Drake came down from the tree, after seeing the sea 
afar oft’, Mr. Oxenham and I went up and saw it too ; and when 
we came down, Drake says, “ John, I have made a vow to God 
that 1 will sail that water, if I live and God gives me grace 
which he had done. Sir, upon his bended knees, like a godly 
man as he always was, and would I had taken after him ; and 


130 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


Mr. O. says, “ I am with you, Drake, to live or die, and I think 
I know some one there already, *so we shall not be quite among 
strangers;” and laughed withal. Well, Sirs, that voyage, as 
you know, never came off, because Captain Drake was fighting 
in Ireland ; so Mr. Oxenham, who must be up and doing, sailed 
for himself, and I who loved him, God knows, like a brother 
(saving the difference in our ranks), helped him to get the crew 
together, and went as his gunner. That was in 1575 ; as you 
know, he had a 140-ton ship. Sir, and seventy men out of 
Plymouth and Fowey and Dartmouth, and many of them old 
hands of Drake’s, beside a dozen or so from Bideford that I 
picked up when I saw young Master here.’ 

‘ Thank God, that you did not pick me up, too.’ 

‘ Amen, amen ! ’ said Yeo, clasping his hands on his breast. 

‘ Those seventy men. Sir, — seventy gallant men. Sir, with 
every one of them an immortal soul within him, — where are 
they now ? Gone, like the spray ! ’ And he swept his hands 
abroad with a wild and solemn gesture. ‘ And their blood is 
upon my head ! ’ 

Both Sir Richard and Amyas began to suspect that the man’s 
brain was not altogether sound. 

‘ God forbid, my man,’ said the Knight, kindly. 

‘Thirteen men I persuaded to join in Bideford town, beside 
William Penberthy of Marazion, my good comrade. And what 
if it be said to me at the day of judgment, “ Salvation Yeo, 
where are those fourteen whom thou didst tempt to their deaths 
by covetousness and lust of gold ? ” Not that I was alone in 
my sin, if the truth must be told. For all the way out Mr. 
Oxenham was making loud speech, after his pleasant way, that 
he would make all their fortunes, and take them to such a Para- 
dise, that they should have no lust to come home again. And 
I — God knows why — for every one boast of his would make 
two, even to lying and empty fables, and anything to keep up 
the men’s hearts. For I had really persuaded myself that we 
should all find treasures beyond Solomon his temple, and Mr. 
Oxenham would surely show us how to conquer some golden 
city, or discover some island all made of precious stones. And 
one day, as the Captain and I were talking after our fashion, I 
said, “ And you shall -be our king. Captain.” To which he, 
“ If I be, I shall not be long without a queen, and that no Indian 
one either.” And after that he often jested about the Spanish 
ladies, saying that none could show us the way to their hearts 
better than he. Which speeches I took no count of then. Sirs : 
but after I minded them, whether I would or not. Well, Sirs, 
we came to the shore of New Spain, near to the old place — 


OF MR. JOHN OXENUAM. 


131 


that’s Nombre de Dios ; and there Mr. Oxenham went ashore 
into the woods with a boat’s crew, to find the negroes who 
helped us three years before. Those are the Cimaroons, gen- 
tles, negro slaves who have fled from those devils incarnate, 
their Spanish masters, and live wild, like the beasts that perish; 
men of great stature. Sirs, and fierce as wolves in the onslaught, 
but poor jabbering mazed fellows if they be but a bit dismayed ; 
and have many Indian women with them, who take to these 
negroes a deal better than to their own kin, which breeds war 
enough, as you may guess. 

‘Well, Sirs, after three days, the Captain comes back, look- 
ing heavy enough, and says, “ We played our trick once too 
often, when we played it once. There is no chance of stopping 
another refo (that is, a mule-train. Sirs,) now. The Cimaroons 
say that since our last visit they never move without plenty of 
soldiers, two hundred shot at least. Therefore,” he said, “ my 
gallants, we must either return empty-handed from this, the 
very market and treasury of the whole Indies, or do such a 
deed as men never did before, which I shall like all the better 
for that very reason.” And we, asking his meaning, “ Why,” 
he said, “if Drake will not sail the South Seas, we will;” 
adding profanely that Drake was like Moses, who beheld the 
promised land afar ; but he was Joshua, who would enter into 
it, and smite the inhabitants thereof. And, for our confirma- 
tion, showed me and the rest the superscription of a letter : and 
said, “ How I came by this is none of your business : but I 
have had it in my bosom ever since I left Plymouth ; and I tell 
you now, what I forbore to tell you at first, that the South Seas 
have been my mark all along ; such news have I herein of 
plate-ships, and gold-ships, and what not which will come up 
from Quito and Lima this very month, all which, with the pearls 
of the Gulf of Panama, and other wealth unspeakable, will be 
ours, if we have but true English hearts within us.” 

‘ At which, gentles, we were like madmen for lust of that 
gold, and cheerfully undertook a toil incredible ; for first we 
run our ship aground in a great wood which grew in the very 
sea itself, and then took out her masts, and covered her in 
boughs, with her four cast pieces of great ordnance (of which 
more hereafter), and leaving no man in her, started for the 
South Seas across the neck of Panama, with two small pieces 
of ordnance and our culverins, and good store of victuals, and 
with us six of those negroes for a guide, and so twelve leagues 
to a river which runs into the South Sea. 

‘ And there, having cut wood, we made a pinnace (and work 
enough wc had at it) of five-and-forty foot in the keel ; and in 


132 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY. 


her down the stream, and to the Isle of Pearls in the Gulf of 
Panama.’ 

‘ Into the South Sea ? Impossible ! ’ said Sir Richard. ‘ Have 
a care what you say, my man ; for there is that about you 
which would make me sorry to find you out a liar.’ 

‘ Impossible or not, liar or none, we went there. Sir.’ 

‘ Question him, Amyas, lest he turn out to have been before- 
hand with you.’ 

The man looked inquiringly at Amyas, who said, — 

‘ Well, my man, of the Gulf of Panama I cannot ask you, 
for I was never inside it ; but what other parts of the coast do 
you know ? ’ 

‘ Every inch. Sir, from Cabo San Francisco to Lima ; more 
is my sorrow, for I was a galley-slave there for two years and 
more.’ 

‘ You know^ Lima ? ’ 

‘ I was there three times, worshipful gentlemen, and the last 
was February come two years ; and there I helped lade a great 
plate-ship, the “ Cacafuogo,” they called her.’ 

Amyas started. Sir Richard nodded to him gently to be 
silent, and then, — 

‘ And what became of her, my lad ? ’ 

‘ God knows, who knows all, and the devil who freighted her. 
I broke prison six weeks afterwards, and never heard but that 
she got safe into Panama.’ 

‘ You never heard, then, that she was taken ? ’ 

‘ Taken, your worships ? Who should take her ? ’ 

‘ Why should not a good English ship take her as well as 
another ? ’ asked Amyas. 

‘ Lord love you. Sir ; yes, faith, if they had but been there. 
Many’s the time that I thought to myself, as we went alongside, 
“ Oh, if Captain Drake was but here, well to windward, and 
our old crew of the Dragon ! ” Ask your pardon, gentles : but 
how is Captain Drake, if I may make so bold ? ’ 

Neither could hold out longer. 

‘ Fellow, fellow ! ’ cried Sir Richard, springing up, ‘ either 
thou art the cunningest liar that ever earned a halter, or thou 
hast done a deed the like of which never man adventured. 
Dost thou not know that Captain Drake took that “ Cacafuogo” 
and all her freight, in February come two years ? ’ 

‘ Captain Drake ! God forgive me, Sir ; but — Captain Drake 
in the South Seas ? He saw them. Sir, from the tree-top over 
Panama, when I was with him, and I too ; but sailed them. 
Sir ? — sailed them ? ’ 

‘ Yes, and round the world, too,’ said Amyas, ‘ and I with 


OF ME. JOHN OXENHAM. 


133 


him ; and took that very “ Cacafuogo” off Cape San Francisco, 
as she came up to Panama.’ 

One glance at the man’s face was enough to prove his sin- 
cerity. The great stern Anabaptist, who had not winced at the 
news of his mother’s death, dropt right on his knees on the 
floor, and burst into violent sobs. 

‘ Glory to God ! Glory to God ! O Lord, I thank thee ! 
Captain Drake in the South Seas ! The blood of thy innocents 
avenged, O Lord ! The spoiler spoiled, and the proud robbed ; 
and ^ll they whose hands were mighty have found nothing. 
Glory, glory ! O tell me. Sir, did she fight ? — did she fight ? ’ 

‘ We gave her three pieces of ordnance only, and struck 
down her mizen mast, and then boarded sword in hand, but 
never had need to strike a blow : and before we left her, one 
of her own boys had changed her name, and rechristened her 
the “ Cacaplata.” ’ 

‘ Glory, glory ! Cowards they are, as I told them. I told 
them they never could stand the Devon mastiffs, and well they 
flogged me for saying it : but they copld not stop my mouth. 
O, Sir. tell me, did you get the ship that came up after her ’ 

*■ What was that ' ’ 

‘ A long race-ship. Sir, from Guayaquil, with an old gentle- 
man on board, — Don Francisco de Xararte was his name, — 
and by token, he hAd a gold falcon hanging to a chain round 
his neck, and a green stone in the breast of it. I saw it as we 
rowed him aboard. O tell me. Sir, tell me for the love of God, 
did you take that ship ? ’ 

‘ We did take that ship, and the jewel, too, and her Majesty 
has it this very hour.’ 

‘ Then tell me, Sir,’ said he slowly, as if he dreaded an 
answer ; ‘ tell me. Sir, and oh, tiy and mind — was there a little 
maid aboard with the old gentleman ? ’ 

• A little maid ? Let me think. No ; I saw none.’ 

The man settled his features again sadly. 

• 1 thought not. I never saw her come aboard. Still I hoped, 
like ; I hoped. Alackaday ! God help me. Salvation Yeo ! ’ 

• What have you to do \vith this little maid, then, good fel- 
low ' ’ asked Grenvile. 

• Ah, sir, before I tell you that, I must go back and finish the 
story of Mr. Oxenham, if you will believe me enough to hear 

it.' , 

• I do believe thee, good fellow, and honor thee, too. 

‘ Then. Sir, I can speak with a free tongue. Where was I ? ’ 

‘ Where was he, x\myas ? ’ 

‘ At the Isle of Pearls.’ 

12 


134 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


‘And yet, O gentles, tell me first, how Captain Drake came 
into the South Seas ; — over the neck, as we did ? ’ 

‘Through the Straits, good fellow, like any Spaniard : but go 
on with thy story, and thou shalt have Mr. Leigh’s after.’ 

‘ Through the Straits ! O glory ! But I’ll tell my tale. 
Well, Sirs both — To the Island of Pearls we came, we and 
some of the negroes. We found many huts, and Indians fish- 
ing for pearls, and also a fair house, with porches ; but no 
Spaniard therein, save one man ; at which Mr. Oxenham was 
like a man transported, and fell on that Spaniard, crying, 
“ Perro, where is your mistress ? Where is the bark from 
Lima.? ” To which he boldly enough, “ What was his mistress 
to the Englishman ? ” But Mr. O. threatened to twine a cord 
round his head till his eyes burst out ; and the Spaniard, being 
terrified, said that the ship from Lima was expected in a fort- 
night’s time. So for ten days we lay quiet, letting neither negro 
nor Spaniard leave the island, and took good store of pearls, 
feeding sumptuously on wild cattle and hogs until the tenth day, 
when there came by a ^mall bark ; her we took, and found her 
from Quito, and on board 60,000 pezos of gold and other store. 
With which, if we had been content, gentlemen, all' had gone 
well. And some were willing to go back at once, having both 
treasure and pearls in plenty ; but Mr. O., he waxed right mad, 
and swore to slay any one who made that motion again, assur- 
ing us that the Lima ship of which he had news was far greater 
and richer, and would make princes of us all ; which bark 
came in sight on the sixteenth day, and was taken without shot 
or slaughter. The taking of which bark, I verily believe, was 
the ruin of every mother’s son of us.’ 

And being asked why, he answered, ‘ First, because of the 
discontent which was bred thereby ; for on beard was found no 
gold, but only 100,000 pezos of silver.’ 

‘ Sir Richard Grenvile. — Thou greedy fellow ; and was not 
that enough to stay your stomachs ? 

Yeo answered, that he wished to God it had been ; but that, 
moreover, the weight of that silver was afterwards a hindrance 
to them, and a fresh cause of discontent, as he would after- 
wards declare. ‘ So that it had been well for us. Sirs, if we 
had left it behind, as Mr. Drake left his three years before, 
and carried away the gold only. In which I do see the evi- 
dent hand of God, and his just punishment for our greediness 
of gain ; who caused Mr. Oxenham, by whom we had hoped to 
attain great wealth, to be a snare to us, and a cause of utter ruin.’ 

‘ Do you think, then,’ said Sir llichard, ‘ that Mr. Oxenham 
deceived vou wilfully .? ’ 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


135 


‘ I will never believe that, Sir : Mr. Oxenham had his pri- 
vate reason for waiting for that ship, for the sake of one on 
board, whose face would that he had never seen, though he 
saw it then, as I fear, not for the first time by many a one.’ 
And so was silent. 

‘ Come,’ said both his hearers, ‘ you have brought us thus far, 
and you must go on.’ 

‘ Gentlemen, I have concealed this matter from all men, 
both on my voyage home and since ; and I hope you will be 
secret in the matter, for the honor of my noble Captain, and 
the comfort of his friends who are alive. For 1 think it shame 
to publish harm of a gallant gentleman, and of an ancient and 
worshipful family, and to me a true and kind Captain, when 
what is done cannot be undone, and least said soonest mended. 
Neither now would I have spoken of it but that I was inwardly 
moved to it, for the sake of that young gentleman there (look- 
ing at Amyas), that he might be warned in time of God’s 
wrath against the crying sin of adultery, and flee youthful 
lusts, which war against the soul.’ 

‘ Thou hast done wisely enough, then,’ said Sir Richard ; 
‘ and look to it if I do not reward thee : but the young gen- 
tleman here, thank God, needs no such warnings, having got 
them already both by precept and example, where thou and 
podr Oxenham might have had them also.’ 

‘ You mean Captain Drake, your worship ? ’ 

‘Ido, sirrah. If all men were as clean livers as he, the 
world would be spared one half the tears that are shed in it.’ 

‘Amen, Sir. At least there would have been many a tear 
spared to us and ours. For — as all must out — in that bark 
of Lima he took a young lady, as fair as the sunshine. Sir, 
and seemingly about a two or three-and-twenty years of age, 
having with her a tall young lad of sixteen, and a little girl, a 
marvellously pretty child, of about a six or seven. And the 
lady herself was of an excellent beauty, like a whale’s tooth 
for whiteness, so that all the crew wondered at her, and could 
not be satisfied with looking upon her. And, gentlemen, this 
was strange, that the lady seemed in no wise afraid or mournful, 
and bid her little girl fear nought, as did also Mr. Oxenham ; 
but the lad kept a very sour countenance, and the more when 
he saw the lady and Mr. Oxenham speaking together apart. 

‘ Well, Sir, after this good luck we were minded to have 
CTone straight back to the river whence we came, and so home 
to England with all speed. But Mr. Oxenham persuaded 
us to return to the island, and get a few more pearls. To 
which foolishness (which after caused the mishap), I verily 


136 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


believe, he was- moved by the instigation of the devil and of 
that lady. For, as we were about to go ashore, I, going down 
into the cabin of the prize, saw Mr. Oxenham and that lady 
making great cheer of each other with “ My life,” and “ My 
king,” and “ Light of my eyes,” and such toys ; and being 
bidden by Mr. Oxenham to fetch out the lady’s mails, and take 
them ashore, heard how the two laughed together about the 
old ape of Panama (which ape, or devil rather, I saw after- 
wards to my cost), and also how she said, that she had been 
dead for five years ; and now that Mr. Oxenham, was come, she 
was alive again, and so forth. 

‘Mr. Oxenham bade take the little maid ashore, kissing her 
and playing with her, and saying to the lady, “ What is yours 
is mine, and what is mine is yours.” And she asking whether 
the lad should come ashore, he answered, “ He is neither yours 
nor mine ; let the spawn of Beelzebub stay on board.” After 
which I, coming on deck again, stumbled over that very lad, 
upon the hatchway ladder, who bore so black and despiteful a 
face, that I verily believe he had overheard their speech, and 
so thrust him upon deck ; and going below again, told Mr. 
Oxenham what 1 thought, and said that it were better to put a 
dagger into him at once, professing to be ready so to do. For 
which grievous sin, seeing that it was committed in my unre- 
generate days, I hope I have obtained the grace of forgiveness, 
as 1 have that of hearty repentance. But the lady cried out, 
“ Though he be none of mine, I have sin enough already on 
my soul;” and so laid her hand on Mr. Oxenham’s mouth, 
entreating pitifully. And Mr. Oxenham answered laughing, 
when she would let him, “ What care we ? let the young mon- 
key go and howl to the old one ; ” and so went ashore with 
the lady to that house, whence for three days he never came 
forth, and would have remained longer, but that the men, find- 
ing but few pearls, and being wearied with the watching and 
warding so many Spaniards and negroes, came clamoring to 
him, and swore that they would return or leave him there with 
the lady. So all went on board the pinnace again, every one 
in ill-humor with the Captain, and he with them. 

‘ Well, Sirs, we came back to the mouth of the river, and 
there began our troubles ; for the negroes, as soon as we were 
on shore, called on Mr. Oxenham to fulfil the bargain he had 
made with them. And now it came out (what few of us knew 
till then) that he had agreed with the Cimaroons that they 
should have all the prisoners which were taken, save the gold. 
And he, though loth, was about to give up the Spaniards to 
them, near forty in all, supposing that they intended to use 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


137 


them as slaves : but as we all stood talking, one of the Span- 
iards, understanding what was forward, threw himself on his 
knees before Mr. Oxenham, and shrieking like a madman, 
entreated not to be given up into the hands of “ those devils,” 
said he, “ who never take a Spanish prisoner, but they roast 
him alive, and then eat his heart among them.” We asked 
the negroes if this was possible ? To which some answered, 
What was that to us? But others said boldly, that it was true 
enough, and that revenge made the best sauce, and nothing 
was so sweet as Spanish blood ; and one, pointing to the lady, 
said such foul and devilish things as 1 should be ashamed 
either for me to speak, or you to hear. At this we were like 
men amazed for very horror; and Mr. Oxenham said, “ Ypu 
incarnate fiends, if you had taken- these fellows for slaves, it 
had been fair enough ; for you were once slaves to them, and 
I doubt not cruelly used enough : but as for this abomination,” 
says he, “ God do so to me, and more also, if I let one of 
them come into your murderous hands.” So there was a great 
quarrel ; but Mr. Oxenham stoutly bade put the prisoners on 
board the ships again, and so let the prizes go, taking with him 
only the treasure, and the lady, and the little maid. And so 
the lad went on to Panama, God’s wrath having gone out 
against us. 

‘ Well, Sirs, the Cimaroons after that went away from us, 
swearing revenge (for which we cared little enough), and we 
rowed up the river to a place where three streams met, and 
then up the deast of the three, some four days’ journey, till it 
grew all shoal and swift ; and there we hauled the pinnace 
upon the sands, and Mr. Oxenham asked the men whether they 
were willing to carry the gold and silver over the mountains to 
the North Sea. Some of them at first were loth to do it, and 
I and others advised that we should leave the plate behind, and 
take the gold only, for it would have cost us three or four 
journeys at the least. But Mr. Oxenham promised every man 
one hundred pezos of silver over and above his wages, which 
made them content enough, and we were all to start the mor- 
row morning. But, Sirs, that night, as God had ordained, 
came a mishap by some rash speeches of Mr. Oxenham’s, 
which threw all abroad again ; for when we had carried the 
treasure about half a’ league inland, and hidden it away in a 
house which we made of boughs, Mr. O. being always full of 
that his fair lady, spoke to me and William Penberthy of 
Marazion, my good comrade, and a few more, saying, “ That 
we had no need to return to England, seeing that we were 
already in the very garden of Eden, and wanted for nothing, but 
12 * 


138 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


could live without labor or toil ; and that it was better, when 
we got over to the North Sea, to go and seek out some fair 
island, and there dwell in joy and pleasure till our lives’ end. 
And we two,” he said, “ will be king and queen, and you, 
whom I can trust, my officers ; and for servants we will have 
the Indians, who, I warrant, will be more fain to serve honest 
and merry masters like us than those Spanish devils,” and much 
more of the like ; which words I liked well, — my mind, alas! 
being given altogether to carnal pleasure and vanity^ — as did 
William Penberthy, my good comrade, on whom 1 trust God 
has had mercy. But the rest. Sirs, took the matter all across, 
and began murmuring against the Captain, saying that poor 
honest mariners like them had always the labor and the pain, 
while he took his delight with his lady ; and that they would 
have at least one merry night before they were slain by the 
Cimaroons, or eaten by panthers and legartos ; and so got out 
of the pinnace two great skins of Canary wine, which were 
taken in the Lima prize, and sat themselves down to drink. 
Moreover, there were in the pinnace a great sight of hens, 
which came from the same prize, by which Mr. O. set great 
store, keeping them for the lady and the little maid ; and fall- 
ing upon these, the men began to blaspheme, saying, What a 
plague had the Captain to fill the boat with dirty live lumber 
for that giglet’s sake ? They had a better right to a good sup- 
per than ever she had, and might fast awhile to cool her hot 
blood ; ” and so cooked and eat those hens, plucking them on 
board the pinnace, and letting the feathers fall into the stream. 
But when William Penberthy, my good comrade, saw the 
feathers go floating away down, he asked them if they were 
mad, to lay a trail by which the Spaniards would surely track 
them out, if they came after them, as without doubt they 
would. But they laughed him to scorn, and said that no Span- 
ish cur dared follow on the heels of true English mastiffs as 
they were, and other boastful speeches ; and at last, being 
heated with wine, began afresh to murmur at the Captain. 
And one speaking of his counsel about the island, the rest 
altogether took it amiss and out of the way ; and some sprang 
up crying treason, and others that he meant to defraud them 
of the plate which he had promised, and others that he meant 
to desert ffiem in a strange land, and so forth, till Mr. O., 
hearing the hubbub, came out to them from the house, when 
they reviled him foully, swearing that he meant to cheat them ; 
and one Edward Stiles, a Wapping man, mad with drink, 
dared to say that he was a fool for not giving up the prisoners 
to the negroes, and what was it to him if the lady roasted ? 


OF MU. JOHN OXENHAM. 


139 


the negroes should have her yet ; and drawing his €word, ran 
upon the Captain ; for wliich I was .about to strike him through 
the body ; but the Captain, not caring to waste steel on such a 
ribald, with his fist caught him such a buffet behind the ear, 
that he fell down stark dead, and all the rest stood amazed. 
Then Mr. Oxenham called out, “ All honest men who know 
me, and can trust me, stand by your lawful Captain against 
these ruffians.” Whereon, Sirs, I, and Penberthy, my good 
comrades, and four Plymouth* men, who had sailed with Mr. O. 
in Mr. Drake’s ship, and knew his trusty and valiant conditions, 
came over to him, and swore before God to stand by him and 
the lady. Then said Mr. O. to the rest, “ Will you carry this 
treasure, knaves, or will you not ? Give me an answer here.” 
And they refused, unless he would, before they started, give 
each man his share. So Mr. O. waxed very mad, and swore 
that he would never be served by men who did not trust him, 
and so went in again ; and that night was spent in great dis- 
quiet, I and those five others keeping watch about the house of 
boughs till the rest fell asleep, in their drink. And next morn- 
ing, when the wine was gone out of them, Mr. O. asked them 
whether they would go to the hills with him, and find those 
negroes, and persuade them after all to' carry the treasure. 
To which they agreed after a while, thinking that so they 
should save themselves labor; and went off with Mr. Oxen- 
ham, leaving us six who had stood by him to watch the lady 
and the treasure, after he had taken an oath of us that we 
would deal justly and obediently by him and by her, which, 
God knows, gentlemen, we did. So he parted with much 
weeping and wailing of the lady, and was gone seven days ; 
and all that time we kept that lady faithfully and honestly, 
bringing her the best we could find, and serving her upon our 
bended knees, both for her admirable beauty, and for her 
excellent conditions, for she was certainly of some noble kin, 
and courteous, and without fear, as if she had been a very 
princess. But she kept always within the house, which the 
little maid (God bless her !) did not, but soon learned to play 
with us and we with her, so that we made great cheer of her, 
gentlemen, sailor-fashion — for you know we must always 
have our minions aboard to pet and amuse us — maybe a 
monkey, or a little dog, or a singing bird, ay, or mice and 
spiders, if we have nothing better to play withal.. And she 
was wonderful sharp. Sirs, was the little maid, and picked up 
her English from us fast, calling us jolly mariners, which I 
doubt but she has forgotten by now, but I hope in God it be 


140 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


not SO ; and therewith the good fellow began wiping his 
eyes. 

‘ Well, Sir, on the seventh day we six were down by the 
pinnace clearing her out, and the little maid with us gathering 
of flowers, and William Penberthy fishing on the bank, about 
a hundreds yards below, when on a sudden he leaps up and 
runs towards us, crying, “ Here come our hens’ feathers back 
again with a vengeance ; ” and so bade catch up the little 
maid, and run for the house, for the Spaniards were upon 
us. 

‘ Which was too true ; for before we could win the house, 
there were full eighty shot at our heels, but could not overtake 
us ; nevertheless, some of them stopping, fixed their calivers 
and let fly, killing one of the Plymouth men. The rest of us 
escaped to the house, and catching up the lady, fled forth, not 
knowing whither we went, while the Spaniards, finding the 
house and treasure, pursued us no further. 

‘ For all that day and the next we wandered in great misery, 
the lady weeping continually, and calling for Mr. Oxenham 
most piteously, and the little maid likewise, till with much ado 
we found the track of our comrades, and went up that as best 
we might : but at nightfall, by good hap, we met the whole 
crew coming back, and with them two hundred negroes or 
more, with bows and arrows. At which sight was great joy 
and embracing, and it was a strange thing. Sirs, to see the 
lady ; for before that she was altogether desperate : and yet 
she was now a very lioness, as soon as she had got her love 
again ; and prayed him earnestly not to care for that gold, but 
to go forward to the North Sea, vowing to him in my hearing 
that she cared no more for porverty than she had cared for her 
•good name, and then — they being a little apart from the 
rest — pointed round to the green forest, and said in Spanish — 
which I suppose they knew not that I understood, — “ See, all 
around us is Paradise. Were it not enough for you and me to 
stay here for ever, and let them take the gold or leave it as 
they will ? ” 

‘To which Mr, Oxenham — “Those who lived in Paradise 
had not sinned as we have, and would never have grown old or 
sick, as we shall.” 

‘ And she — “ If we do that, there are poisons enough in 
these woods, by which we may die in each other’s arms, as 
would to heaven we had died seven years agone ! ” 

‘ But he, — “ No, no, my life. It stands upon my honor 
both to fulfil my bond with these men, whom I have brought 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


141 


hither, and to take home to England at least something of my 
prize as a proof of my own valor.” 

‘Then she, smiling — “Am I not prize enough, and proof 
enough.?” But he would not be so tempted, and turning to 
us offered us the half of that treasure, if we w'ould go back 
with him, and rescue it from_ the Spaniard. At which the lady 
wept and wailed much ; but I took upon myself to comfort 
her,* though I was but a simple mariner, telling her that it stood 
upon Mr. Oxenham’s honor; and that in England nothing was 
esteemed so foul as cowardice, or breaking word and troth 
betwixt man and man ; and that better was it for him to die 
seven times by the Spaniards, than to face at home the scorn 
of all who sailed the seas. So, after much ado, back they 
went again ; I and Penberthy, and the three Plymouth men 
which escaped from the pinnace, keeping the lady as before. 

‘ Well, Sirs, we waited five days, having made houses of 
boughs as before, without hearing aught; and on the sixth we 
saw coming afar off Mr. Oxenham, and with him fifteen or 
twenty men, who seemed very weary’ and wounded ; and when 
we looked for the rest to be behind them, behold there were 
no more ; at which, Sirs, as you may well think, our hearts 
sank within us. 

‘ And Mr. O., coming nearer, cried out afar off, “ All is 
lost ! ” and so walked into the camp without a word, and sat 
himself down at the foot of a great tree with his head between 
his hands, speaking neither to the lady or to any one, till she 
very pitifully kneeling before him, cursing herself for the 
cause of all his mischief, and praying him to avenge himself 
upon that her tender body, won him hardly to look once upon 
her, after which (as is the way of vain and unstable man), all 
between them was as before. 

‘ But the men were full of curses against the negroes, for 
their cowardice and treachery ; yea, and against high Heaven 
itself, which had put the most part of their ammunition into the 
Spaniards’ hands ; and told me, and 1 believe truly, how they 
forced the enemy awaiting them in a little copse of great trees, 
well fortified with barricades of boughs, and having with them 
our two falcons, which they had taken out of the pinnace. 
And how Mr. Oxenham divided both the English and the 
negroes into two bands, that one might attack the enemy in 
front, and the other in the rear, and so set upon them with 
great fury, and would have utterly driven them out, but that the 
negroes, who had come on with much howling, like very wild 
beasts, being suddenly scared with the shot and noise of the 
ordnance, turned and fled, leaving the Englishmen alone ; in 


142 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


which evil strait Mr. O. fought like a very Guy of Warwick, 
and I verily believe every man of them likewise ; for there was 
none of them who had not his shrewd scratch to show. And 
indeed, Mr. Oxenham’s party had once gotten within the bar- 
ricades, but the Spaniards being sheltered by the tree trunks 
(and especially by one mighty tree, which stood, as I remem- 
bered it, and remember it now, borne up two fathoms high 
upon its owns roots, as it were upon arches and pillars), shot at 
them with such advantage, that they had several slain, and 
seven more taken alive, only among the roots of that tree. So 
seeing that they could prevail nothing, having little but their 
pikes and swords, they were fain to give back ; though Mr. 
Oxenham swore he would not stir a foot, and making at the 
Spanish Captain was borne down with pikes, and hardly pulled 
away by some, who at last reminding him of his lady, per- 
suaded him to come away with the rest. Whereon the other 
party fled also : but what had become of them they knew not, 
for they took another way. And so they miserably drew otf, 
having lost in men eleven killed and seven taken alive, beside 
five of the rascal negroes who were killed before they had time 
to run ; and there was an end of the matter.* 

* In the documents from which I have drawn this veracious history, a 
note is appended to this point of Yeo’s story, which seems to me to smack 
sufficiently of the old Elizabethan seaman, to be inserted at length. 

‘ All so far, and most after, agreeth with Lopez Vaz his tale, taken from 
his pocket by my Lord Cumberland’s mariners, at the river. Plate, in the 
year 1586. But note here his vainglory and falsehood, or else fear of the 
Spaniard. 

‘ First, lest it should be seen how great an advantage the Spaniards had, 
he maketh no mention of the English calivers, nor those two pieces of 
ordnance which were in the pinnace. 

‘ Second, he saith nothing of the flight of the Ciraaroons : though it was 
evidently to be gathered from that which he himself saith, that of less than 
seventy English were slain eleven, and of the negroes but five. And while 
of the English seven were taken alive, yet of the negroes none. And why, 
but because the rascals ran ? 

‘ Thirdly, it is a thing incredible, and out of experience, that eleven 
English should be slain and seven taken, with loss only of two Spaniards 
killed. 

‘ Search now, and see, (for I will not speak of mine own small doings,) 
in all those memorable voyages, which the worthy and learned Mr. Hak- 
luyt hath so painfully collected, and which are to my old age next only to 
my Bible, whether in all the fights which we have endured with the 
Spaniards, their loss, even in victory, hath not far exceeded ours. For 
we are both bigger of body and fiercer of spirit, being even to the poorest 
of us (thanks to the care of our illustrious princes), the best fed men of 
Europe, the most trained to feats of strength and use of weapons, and put 
our trust also not in any Virgin or Saints, dead rags and bones, painted 
idols which have no breath in their mouths, or St. Bartholomew medals 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


143 


‘But the next day, gentlemen, in came some five-and-twenty 
more, being the wreck of the other party, and with them a few 
negroes ; and these last proved themselves no honester men 
than they were brave, for there being great misery among us 
English, and every one of us straggling where he could to get 
food, every day one or more who went out never came back, 
and that caused a suspicion that the negroes had betrayed them 
to the Spaniards, or may be, slain and eaten them. So these 
fellows being upbraided with that altogether left us, telling us 
boldly, that if they had eaten our fellows, we owed them a debt 
instead of the Spanish prisoners ; and we, in great terror and 
hunger, went forward and over the mountains till we came to a 
little river which ran northward, which seemed to lead into the 
Northern Sea; and there Mr. O. — who. Sirs, I will say, after 
his first rage was over, behaved himself all through like a 
valiant and skilful commander — bade us cut down trees and 
make canoes, to go down to the sea ; which we began to do 
with great labor and little profit, hewing down trees with our 
swords, and burning them out with fire, which, after much labor, 
we kindled : but as we were a-burning out of the first tree, and 
cutting down of another, a great party of negroes came upon 
us, and with much friendly show bade . us flee for our lives, for 
the Spaniards were upon us in great force. And so we were 
up and away again, hardly able to drag our legs after us for 
hunger and weariness, and the broiling heat. And some were 
taken, (God help them !) and some fled with the negroes, of 
whom what became God alone knoweth ; but eight or ten held 
on with the Captain, among whom was I, and fled downward 


and such devil’s remembrancers : but in the only true God and our Lord 
Jesus Christ, in whom whomsoever trusteth, one of them shall chase a 
thousand. So I hold, having had good experience ; and say, if they have 
done it once, let them do it again, and kill their eleven to our two, with 
any weapon they will, save paper bullets blown out of Fame’s" lying trum- 
pet. Yet I have no quarrel with the poor Portugal ; for I doubt not but 
friend Lopez Vaz had looking over his shoulder as he wrote some mighty 
black velvet Lon, with a name as long as that Lon Bernaldino Lelgadillo 
de Avellaneda who set forth lately his vainglorious libel of lies concerning 
the last and fatal voyage of my dear friends Sir F. Lrake and Sir John 
Hawkins, who rest in peace, having finished their labors, as would God I 
rested. To whose shameless and unspeakable lying my good .friend, Mr. 
Henry Savile of this county did most pithily and wittily reply, stripping 
the ass out of his lion’s skin ; and Sir Thomas Baskerville, general of the 
fleet, by my advice, sent him a cartel of defiance, offering to meet him 
with choice of weapons, in any indifferent kingdom of equal distance from 
this realm ; which challenge he hath prudently put in his pipe, or rather 
rolled it up for one of his Spanish cigarros, and smoked it, and, I doubt 
not, found it foul in the mouth.’ 


144 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


toward the sea for one day ; but afterwards finding, by the noise 
in the woods, that the Spaniards were on the track of us, we 
turned up again toward the inland, and coming to a cliff, 
climbed up over it, drawing up the lady and the little maid with 
cords of liana (which hang from those trees as honeysuckle does 
here, but exceeding stout and long, even to fifty fathoms) ; 
and so breaking the track, hoped to be out of the way of the 
enemy. 

‘ By which, nevertheless, we only increased our misery. For 
two fell from that cliff, as men asleep from very weariness, and 
miserably broke their bones ; and others, whether by the great 
toil, or sun-strokes, or eating of strange berries, fell sick of 
fluxes and fevers; where was no drop of water, but rock of 
pumice-stone as bare as the back of my hand, and full, move- 
over, of great cracks, black and without bottom, over which we 
had not strength to lift the sick, but were fain to leave them 
there aloft, in the sunshine, like Dives in his torments, crying 
aloud for a drop of water to cool their tongues ; and every man, 
a great stinking vulture or two sitting by him, like an ugly 
black fiend out of the pit, waiting till the poor soul should de- 
part out of the corpse ; but nothing could avail, and for the 
dear life we must down again and into the woods, or be burned 
up alive upon these rocks. 

‘ So getting down the slope on the further side, we came into 
the woods once more, and there wandered for many days, I 
know not how many; our shoes being gone, and our clothes 
all rent off us with brakes and briers. And yet how the lady 
endured all was a marvel 4o see ; for she went barefoot for 
many days, and for clothes was fain to wrap herself in Mr. 
Oxenham’s cloak ; while the little maid went all but naked : 
but ever she looked still on Mr. Oxenham, and seemed to take 
no care as long as he was by, comforting and cheering us all 
with pleasant words ; yea, and once sitting down under a great 
fig-tree, sang us all to sleep with very sweet music ; yet, waking 
about midnight, I saw her sitting still upright, weeping very 
bitterly ; on whom. Sirs, God have mercy, for she was a fair 
and a brave jewel. 

‘ And so, to make few words of a sad matter, at last there 
were none left but Mr. Oxenham and the lady and the little 
maid, together with me and William Penberthy of Marazion, 
my good comrade. And Mr. Oxenham always led the lady, 
and Penberthy and I carried the little maid. And for food we 
had fruits, such as we could find, and water we got from the 
leaves of certain lilies which grew on the bark of trees, which 
I found by seeing the monkeys drink at them ; and the little 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


146 


maid called them monkey-cups, and asked for them continually, 
making me climb for them. And so we wandered on, and 
upward into very high mountains, always fearing lest the Span- 
iards should track us with dogs, which made the lady leap up 
often in her sleep, crying that the bloodhounds were upon her. 
And it befel upon a day, that we came into a great wood of 
ferns (which grew not on the ground like ours, but on stems as 
big as a pinnace’s mast, and the bark of them was like a fina 
meshed net, very strange to see), where was very pleasant 
shade, cool and green ; and there, gentlemen, we sat down 
upon a bank of moss, like folk desperate and foredone, and 
every one looked the other in the face for, a long while. After 
which I took of the bark of those ferns, for I must needs be doing 
something to drive away thought, and began to plait slippers for 
the little maid. 

‘And as I was plaiting, Mr. Oxenham said, “ What hinders 
us from dying like men, every man falling on his own sword ? ” 
To which 1 answered that I dare not ; for a wise woman had 
prophesied of me. Sirs, that I should die at sea, and yet neither 
by water or battle, wherefore I did not think right to meddle 
with the Lord’s purposes. And William Penberthy said, “That 
he would sell his life, and that dear, but never give it away.” 
But the lady said, “ Ah, how gladly would 1 die ! but then la 
paouvre garse,*"' which is in French “the poor maid,” meaning 
the little one. Then Mr. Oxenham fell into a very great weep- 
ing, a weakness I never saw in him before or since ; and with 
many tears besought me never to desert that little maid, whatever 
might befall ; which I promised, swearing to it like a heathen, 
but would, if I had been able, have kept it like a Christian. 
But on a sudden there was a great cry in the w’ood, and coming 
through the trees on all sides Spanish arquebusiers, a hundred 
strong at least, and negroes with them, who bade us stand or 
they would shoot. William Penberthy leapt up, crying “Trea- 
son ! ” and running upon the nearest negro ran him through, 
and then another, and then falling on the Spaniards, fought 
manfully till he was borne down with pikes, and so died. But 
I, seeing nothing better to do, sate still and finished my plaiting. 
And so we were all taken, and I and Mr. Oxenham bound with 
cords ; but the soldiers made a litter for the lady and child, by 
commandment of Senor Diego de Trees, their commander, a 
very courteous gentleman. 

‘ Well, Sirs, we were brought down to the place where the 
house of boughs had been by the river-side ; there we went 
over in boats, and found waiting for us certain Spanish gentle- 
men, and among others one old and ill-favored man, grey- 
13 


146 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


bearded and bent, in a suit of black velvet, who seemed to be a 
great man among them. And if you will believe me, Mr. Leigh, 
that was none other than the old man with the gold falcon at his 
breast, Don Francisco Xararte by name, whom you found aboard 
of the Lima ship. And had you known as much of him as I do, 
or as Mr. Oxenham did either, you had cut him up for sharks’ 
bait, or ever you let the cur ashore again. 

‘ Well, Sirs, as soon as the lady came to shore, that old man 
ran upon her sword in hand, and would have slain her, but some 
there held him back. On which he turned to, and reviled with 
every foul and spiteful word which he could think of, so that 
some there bade him be silent for shame ; and Mr. Oxenham 
said, “ It is worthy of you, Don Francisco, thus to trumpet 
abroad your own disgrace. Did 1 not tell you years ago that 
you were a cur ; and are you not proving my words for me } ” 

‘ He answered, — “ English dog, would to Heaven I had never 
seen you ! ” 

‘ And Mr. Oxenham, — “ Spanish ape, would to Heaven that I 
had sent my dagger through your herring-ribs when you passed 
me behind St. lldegonde’s church, eight years last Easter-eve.” 
At which the old man turned pale, and then began again to up- 
braid the lady, vowing that he would have burnt her alive, and 
other devilish words, to which she answered at last, — 

‘ “ Would that you had burnt me alive on my wedding morn- 
ing, and spared me eight years of misery !” And he, — 

‘ “ Misery } Hear the witch, Sehors ! Oh, have I not pam- 
pered her, heaped with jewels, clothes, coaches, what not } the 
saints alone know what 1 have spent on her. What more would 
she have of me ? ” 

‘To which she answered only but this one word, “Fool!” 
but in so terrible a voice, though low, that they who were about 
to laugh at the old pantaloon, were more minded to weep for 
her. 

‘ “ Fool ! ” she said again, after a while, “ I will waste no words 
upon you. I would have driven a dagger to your heart months 
ago, but that I was loth to set you free so soon from your gout and 
your rheumatism. Selfish and stupid, know when you bought 
my body from my parents, you did not buy my soul ! Fare- 
well, my love, my life ! and farewell, Senors I May you be 
more merciful to your daughters than my parents were to me ! ” 
And so, catching a dagger from the girdle of one of the soldiers, 
smote herself to the heart, and fell dead before them all. 

‘ At which Mr. Oxenham smiled, and said, “ That was worthy 
of us both. If you will unbind my hands, Senors, I shall be 
most happy to copy so fair a schoolmistress.” 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


147 ^ 


‘ But Don Diego shook his head, and said, — 

- “‘It were well for you, valiant Senor, were I at liberty to do 
so; but on questioning those of your sailors, whom I have al- 
ready taken, 1 cannot hear that you have any letters of license, 
either from the Queen of England, or any other potentate. I 
am compelled, therefore, to ask you whether this is so ; for it is 
a matter of life and death.” 

‘ To which Mr. Oxenham answered merrily, “ That so it was ; 
but that he was not aware that any potentate’s license was re- 
quired to permit a gentleman’s meeting his lady-love ; and that 
as for the gold which they had taken, if they had never allowed 
that fresh and fair young May to be forced into marrying that 
old Jiinuary, he should never have meddled with their gold : so 
that was rather their fault than his.” And added, that if he 
was to be hanged, as he supposed, the only favor which he 
asked for was a long drop and no priests. And all the while, 
gentlemen, he still kept his eyes fixed on the lady’s corpse, till 
he was led away with me, while all that stood by, God reward 
them for.it, lamented openly the tragical end of those two sinful 
lovers. 

‘ And now. Sirs, what befel me after that matters little ; for 
I never saw Captain Oxenham again, nor ever shall in this 
life.’ 

‘ He was hanged, then ? ’ 

‘ So I heard for certain the next year, and with him the gun- 
ner and sundry more; but some were given away for slaves to 
the Spaniards, and may be alive now, unless, like me, they have 
fallen into the cruel clutches of the Inquisition. For the Inqui- 
sition now, gentlemen, claims the bodies and souls of all heretics 
all over the world (as the devils told me with their own lips, 
when I pleaded that I was no Spanish subject) ; and none that 
it catches, whether peaceable merchants, or shipwrecked mari- 
ners, but must turn or burn.’ 

‘ But how did you get into the Inquisition > ’ 

‘ Why, Sir, after we were taken, we set forth to go down the 
riv.er again ; and the old Don took the little maid with him in 
one boat (and bitterly she screeched at parting from us, and 
from the poor dead corpse), and Mr. Oxenham with Don Diego 
de Trees in another, and I in a third. And from the Spaniards 
I learnt that we were to be taken down to Lima, to the Viceroy ; 
but that the old man lived hard by Panama, and was going 
straight back to Panama forthwith with the little maid. But 
they said, “ It will be well for her if she ever gets there, for the 
old man swears she is none of his, and would have left her be- 
hind him in the woods now, if Don Diego had not shamed him 


148 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


out of it.” And when I heard that, seeing that there was noth- 
ing but death before me, I made up my mind to escape; and 
the very first night. Sirs, by God’s help, I did it, and went 
southward away into the forest, avoiding the tracks of the Cima- 
roons, till I came to an Indian town. And there, gentlemen, I 
got more mercy from heathens than ever I had from Christians ; 
for when they found that I was no Spaniard, ’they fed me and 
gave me a house, and a wife (and a good wife she was to me), 
and painted me all over in patterns, as you see ; and because 
I had some knowledge of surgery and blood-letting, and my 
fleams in my pocket, which were worth to me a fortune, I rose 
to great honor among them, though they taught me more of 
simples than ever I taught them of surgery. So I lived with 
them merrily enough, being a very heathen like them, or indeed 
worse, for they worshipped their Xemes, but I nothing. And in 
time my wife bare me a child ; in looking at whose sweet face, 
gentlemen, I forgot Mr. Oxenham and his little maid, and my 
oath, ay, and my native land also. Wherefore it was taken 
from me, else had I lived and died as the beasts which perish ; 
for one night, after we were all lain down, came a noise outside 
the town, and I starting up saw armed men and calivers 
shining in the moonlight, and heard one read in Spanish, with a 
loud voice, some fool’s sermon, after their custom when they 
hunt the poor Indians, how God had given to St. Peter the 
dominion of the whole earth, and St. Peter again the Indies to 
the Catholic king; wherefore, if they would all be baptized and 
serve the Spaniard, they should have some monkey’s allowance 
or other of more kicks than pence ; and if not, then have at 
them with fire ’and sword ; but I dare, say your worships know 
that devilish trick of theirs better than I.’ 

‘ I know it, man. Go on.’ 

‘ Well — no sooner were the words spoken, than, without 
waiting to hear what the poor innocents within would answer 
(though that mattered little, for they understood not one word 
of it), what do the villains but let fly right into the town with 
their calivers, and then rush in, sword in hand, killing pell-mell 
all they-tnet, one of which shots, gentlemen, passing through 
the doorway, and close by me, struck my poor wife to the 
heart, that she never spoke word more. I, catching up the 
babe from her breast, tried to run ; but when I saw tlie town 
full of them, and their dogs with them in leashes, which was 
yet worse, I knew all was lost, and sat down again by the 
corpse with the babe on my knees, waiting the end, like one 
stunned and in a dream ; for now I thought God, from whom I 
had fled, had surely found me out, as he did Jonah, and the 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


149 


punishment of all my sins was. to come. Well, gentlemen, they 
dragged me out, and all the young men and women, and 
chained us together by the neck ; and one, catching the pretty 
babe out of my arms, calls for water and a priest (for they 
had their shavelings with them), and no sooner was it christen- 
ed, than, catching the babe by the heels, he dashed out its 
brains, — oh ! gentlemen, gentlemen ! — against the ground, as 
if it had been a kitten ; and so did they to several more inno- 
cents that night, after they had christened them ; saying it was 
best for them to go to heaven while they were still sure thereof ; 
and so marched us all off for slaves, leaving the old folk and 
the wounded to die at leisure. But when morning came, and 
they knew by my skin that I was no Indian, and by my speech 
that 1 was no Spaniard, they began threatening me with tor- 
ments, till I confessed that I was an Englishman, and one of 
Oxenham’s crew. At that says the leader, “ Then you shall 
to Lima, to hang by the side of your Captain the pirate by 
which I first knew that my poor Captain was certainly gone : 
but alas for me ! the priest steps in and claims me for his 
booty, calling me Lutheran, heretic, and enemy of God ; and 
so, to make short a sad story, to the Inquisition at Carthagena 
I went, where what I suffered, gentlemen, were as disgustful 
for you to hear, as unmanly for me to complain of ; but so it 
was, that being twice racked, and having endured the water- 
torment as best I could, I was put to the scarpines, whereof I 
am, as you see, somewhat lame of one leg to this day. At 
which 1 could abide no more, and so, wretch that I am ! denied 
my God, in hope to save my life ; which indeed I did, but 
little it profited nie ; for though I had turned to their super- 
stition, I must have two hundred stripes in the public place, 
and then go to the galleys for seven years. And there, gen- 
tlemen, ofttimes I thought that it had been better for me to 
have been burned once and for all ; but you know as well as 
I what a floating., hell of heat and cold, hunger and thirst, 
stripes and toil, is every one of those accursed craft. In 
which hell, nevertheless, gentlemen, I found the road to heaven, 
— I had almost said heaven itself. For it fell out, by God’s 
mercy, that my next comrade was an Englishman like myself, 
a young man of Bristol, who, as he told me, had been some 
manner of factor on board poor Captain Barker’s ship, and had 
been a preacher among the Anabaptists here in England. And, 
oh ! Sir Richard Grenvilc, if that man had done for you what 
he did for me, you would never say a word against those who 
serve the same Lord, because they don’t altogether hold with 
you. For, from time to time, Sir, seeing me altogether de- 
ls* 


150 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


spairing and furious, like a wild beast in a pit, he set before 
me in secret earnestly the sweet promises of God in Christ, — 
who says, “ Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I 
will refresh you ; and though your sins be as scarlet, they 
shall be as white as snow,” — till all that past sinful life of 
mine looked like a dream when one awaketh, and I forgot all 
my bodily miseries in the misery of my soul, so did I loathe 
and hate myself for my rebellion against that loving God who 
had chosen me before the foundation of the world, and come 
to seek and save me when I was lost ; and falling into very 
despair at the burden of my heinous sins, knew no peace until 
I gained sweet assurance that my Lord had hanged my bur- 
den upon his cross, and washed my sinful soul in his most 
sinless blood. Amen ! ’ 

And Sir Richard Grenvile said Amen also. 

‘ But, gentlemen, if that sweet youth won a soul to Christ, 
he paid as dearly for it as ever did saint of God. For after a 
three or four months, when I had been all that while in sweet 
converse with him, and I may say in heaven in the midst of 
hell, there came one night to the barranco at Lima, where we were 
kept when on shore, three black devils of the Holy Office, and 
carried him off without a word, only saying to me, “ Look that 
your'turn come not next, for we hear that you have had much 
talk with the villain.” And at these words I was so struck cold 
with terror that I swooned right away ; and verily if they had 
taken me there and then, I should have denied my God again, 
for my faith was but young and weak ; but instead, they left me 
aboard the galley for a few months more (that was a whole 
voyage to Panama and back), in daily dread lest I should find 
myself in their cruel claws again — and then nothing for me 
but to burn as a relapsed heretic. But when we came back to 
Lima, the officers came on board again, and said to me, “ That 
heretic has confessed nought against you, so we will leave you 
for this time; but because you have been , seen talkino- with 
liim so much, and the Holy Office suspects your conversion to 
be but'a rotten one, you are adjudged to the galleys for the rest 
of your life in perpetual servitude.” ’ 

‘ But what became of him ? ’ asked Amyas. 

‘ He was burned. Sir, a day or two before we got to Lima 
and five others with him at the same stake, of whom two were 
Englishmen ; old comrades of mine, as I guess.’ 

‘Ah!’ said Amyas, ‘ we heard of that when we were off 
Lima ; and they said, too, that there were six more lying still 
in prison, to he burnt in a few days. If we had had our fleet 
with us (as we should have had if it had pot been for John 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


151 


Winter), we would have gone in and rescued them all, poor 
wretches, and sacked the town to boot ; but what could we do 
with one ship ? ’ 

‘ Would to God you had. Sir ; for the story was true enough ; 
and among them, I heard, were two young ladies of quality 
and their confessor, who came to their ends for reproving out 
of Scripture the filthy and loathsome living of those parts, 
which, as I saw well enough and too well, is liker to Sodom 
than to a Christian town ; but God will avenge His saints,’ and 
their sins. Amen.’ 

‘ Amen ; ’ said Sir Richard., ‘ But on with thy tale, for it is 
as strange as ever man heard.’ 

‘ Well, gentlemen, when 1 heard that I must end my days in 
that galley, I was for a while like a madman ; but in a day or 
two there came over me, I know not how, a full assurance of 
salvation, both for this life and the life to come, such as 1 had 
never had before ; and it was revealed to me (I speak the truth, 
gentlemen, before Heaven), that now I had been tried to the 
uttermost, and that my deliverance was at hand. 

‘ And all the way up to Panama (that was after we had laden 
the “ Cacafuogo ”) I cast in my mind how to escape, and 
found no way ; but just as I was beginning to lose heart again, 
a door was opened by the Lord’s own hand ; for (I know not 
why) we were marched across from Panama to Nombre, which 
had never happened before, and there put altogether into a 
great barranco close by the quay-side, shackled, as is the 
fashion, to one long bar that ran the whole length of the house. 
And the very first night that we were there, 1, looking out of 
the window, spied, lying close aboard of the quay, a good 
sized caravel well armed and just loading for sea; and the 
land breeze blew off very strong, so that the sailors were lay- 
ing out a fresh warp to hold her to the shore. And it came 
into my mind, that if we were aboard of her, we should, be at 
sea in five minutes; and looking at the quay, I saw all the 
soldiers who had guarded us scattered about drinking and 
gambling, and some going into taverns to refresh themselves 
after their journey. That was just at sundown ; and half an 
hour after, in comes the gaoler to take a last look at us for the 
night, and his keys at his girdle. Whereon, Sirs (whether by 
madness, or whether by the spirit which gave Samson strength 
to rend the lion), I rose against him as he passed me, without 
forethought or treachery of any kind, chained though I was, 
caught him by the head, and threw him there and then against 
the wall, that he never spoke word after; and then with his 
keys freed myself and every soul in that room, and bid them 


152 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


follow me, vowing to kill any man who disobeyed my com- 
mands. They followed, as men astounded and leaping out of 
night into day and death into life, and so aboard that caravel 
and out of the harbor (the Lord only knows how, who blinded 
the eyes of the idolaters), with no more hurt than a few chance- 
shot from the soldiers on the quay. But my tale has been over 
long already, gentlemen — ’ 

‘ Go on till midnight, my good fellow, if you will.’ 

‘ Well, Sirs, they chose me for Captain, and a certain Geno- 
ese for lieutenant, and away to go. I would fain have gone 
ashore after all, and back to Panama to hear news of the little 
maid ; but that would have been but a fool’s errand. Some 
wanted to turn pirates ; but I, and the Genoese, too, who was a 
prudent man, though an evil one, persuaded them to run for 
England and get employment in the Netherland wars, assuring 
them that there would be no safety in the Spanish Main, when 
once our escape got wind. And the more part being of one 
mind, for England we sailed, watering at the Barbados because 
it was desolate ; and so eastward toward the Canaries. In 
which voyage what we endured (being taken by long calms) 
by scurvy, calentures, hunger, and thirst, no tongue can tell. 
Many a time were we glad to lay out sheets at night to catch 
the dew, and suck them in the morning; and he that had a 
noggin of rain-water out of the scuppers was as much sought 
to as if he had been Adelantado of all the Indies ; till of a 
hundred and forty poor wi»etches a hundred and ten were dead, 
blaspheming God and man, and, above all, me and the Genoese 
for taking the Europe voyage, as if I had not sins enough of 
my own already. And last of all, when we thought ourselves 
safe, we were wrecked by south-westers on the coast of Brit- 
tany, near to Cape Race, from which but nine souls of us came 
ashore with their lives ; and so to Brest, where I found a Flush- 
inger who carried me to Falmouth ; and so ends my tale, in 
which if I have said one word more or less than truth, I can 
wish myself no worse, than to have it all to undergo a second 
time.’ 

And his voice, as he finished, sank from very weariness of 
soul ; while Sir Richard sat opposite him in silence, his elbows 
on the table, his cheeks on his doubled fists, looking him 
through and through with kindling eyes. No one spoke for 
several minutes ; and then, — 

‘ Amyas, you have heard this story ? You believe it } ’ 

^ ‘ Every word. Sir, or I should not have the heart of a Chris- 
tian man.’ 

‘ So do I. Anthony ! ’ 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


153 


The butler entered. 

‘Take this man to the buttery ; clothe him comfortably, and 
feed him with the besf^ and bid the knaves treat him as if he 
were their own father.’ 

But Yeo lingered. 

‘If 1 might be so bold as to ask your worship a favor ? — ’ 

‘ Anything in reason, my brave fellow.’ 

‘ If your worship could put me in the way of another adven- 
ture to the Indies ? ’ 

‘ Another ! Hast not had enough of the Spaniards already ? ’ 

‘ Never enough. Sir, while one of the idolatrous tyrants is 
left unhanged,’ said he, with a right bitter smile. ‘ But it’s not 
for that only. Sir; but my little maid — Oh, Sir ! my little maid, 
that I swore to Mr. Oxenham to look to, and never saw her 
from that day to this ! I must find her. Sir, or I shall go mad, 
I believe. Not a night but she comes and calls to me in my 
dreams, the poor darling; and not a morning but when I wake 
there is my oath lying on my soul, like a great black cloud, 
and I no nearer the keeping of it. I told that poor young min- 
ister of it when we were in the galleys together ; and he said 
oaths were oaths, and keep it I must ; and keep it I will. Sir, if 
you’ll but help me.’ 

‘ Have patience, man. God will take as good care of thy 
little maid as ever thou wilt.’ 

‘ I know it. Sir; I know it. But faith’s weak. Sir! and oh ! 
if she were bred up a Papist and an* idolater; wouldn’t her 
blood be on my head then, Sir? Sooner than that, sooner than 
that, I’d be in the Inquisition again to-morrow, I would ! ’ 

‘ My good fellow, there are no adventures to the Indies for- 
ward now ; but, if you want to fight Spaniards, here is a gentle- 
man will show you the way. Amyas, take him with you to 
Ireland. If he has learnt half the lessons God has set him to 
learn, he ought to stand you in good stead. 

Yeo looked eagerly at the young giant. 

‘ Will you have me. Sir? There’s few matters I can’t turn 
my hand to : and maybe you’ll be going to the Indies again, 
some day, eh ? and take me with you ? I’d serve your turn 
well, though I say it, either for gunner or for pilot. I know 
every stone and tree from Nombre to Panama, and all the ports 
of both the seas. You’ll never be content. I’ll warrant, till you’ve 
had another turn along the gold coasts, will you now ? ’ 

Amyas laughed, and nodded ; and the bargain was con- 
cluded. 

So out went Yeo to eat, and Amyas having received his 
despatches, got ready for his journey home. 


154 


TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY 


‘ Go the short way over the moors, lad ; and send hack 
Cary’s gray when you can. You must not lose an hour, but be 
ready to sail the moment the wind goes about.’ 

So they started ; but as Amyas was getting into the saddle, he 
saw that there was some stir among the servants, who seemed 
to keep carefully out of Yeo’s way, whispering and nodding 
mysteriously; and just as his foot was in the stirrup, Anthony, 
the old butler, plucked him back. 

‘ Dear father alive, Mr. Amyas ! ’ whispered he ; ‘ and you 
ben’t going by the moor-road all alone with that chap ? ’ 

‘ Why not, then ? I’m too big for him to eat, I reckon.’ 

‘ Oh, Mr. Amyas ! he’s not right, I* tell you ; not company 
for a Christian — to go forth with creatures as has flames of 
fire in their inwards ; ’tis temptation of Providence, indeed, 
then, it is.’ 

‘ Tale of a tub ! ’ 

‘ Tale of a Christian, Sir. There was two boys pig-minding, 
seed him at it down the hill, beside a maiden that was taken 
mazed, (and no wonder, poor soul !) and lying in screeching 
asterisks now down to the mill — you ask as you go by — and 
saw the flames come out o'f the mouth of mun, and the smoke 
out of mun’s nose like a vire-drake, and the roaring of mun like 
the roaring of ten thousand bulls. Oh, Sir ! and to go with he 
after dark over moor ! ’Tis the devil’s devices, Sir, against 
you, because you’m going against his sarvants the Pope of 
Room and the Spaniard ; and you’ll be Pi.xy-led, sure as life, 
and locked into' a bog, you will, and see mun vanish away to 
fire and brimstone, like a jack-o’-lantern. Oh, have a care, 
then, have a care ! ’ 

And the old man wrung his hands, while Amyas, bursting 
with laughter, rode off down the park with the unconscious Yeo 
at his stirrup, chatting away about the Indies, and delighting 
Amyas more and more by his shrew'dness, high spirit, and 
rough eloquence. 

They had gone ten miles or more ; the day began to draw in, 
and the western wind to sweep more cold and cheerless every 
moment, when Amyas, knowing that there was not an inn hard 
by around for many a mile ahead, took a pull at a certain bottle 
which Lady Grenvile had put into his holster, and then offered 
Yeo a pull also. 

He declined ; he had meat and drink too about him. Heaven 
be praised ! 

‘ Meat and drink .? fall to then, man, and don’t stand on man- 
ners.’ 

Whereon Yeo, seeing an old decayed willow by a brook, 


OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


155 


went to it and took therefrom some touchwood, to which he set 
a-light with his knife and a stone, while Amyas watched, a little 
puzzled and startled, as Yeo’s fiery reputation came into his 
mind. Was he really a Salamander-Sprite, and going to warm 
his inside by a meal of burning tinder ? But now Yeo, in his 
solemn methodical way, pulled out of his bosom a brown 
leaf, and began rolling a piece of it up neatly to the size of his 
little finger ; and then, putting the one end into his mouth and 
the other on the tinder, sucked at it till it was a-light ; and 
drinking down the smoke, began puffing it out again at his nos- 
trils with a grunt of deepest' satisfaction, and resumed his dog- 
trot by Amyas’s side, as if he had been a walking chimney. 

On which Amyas burst into a loud laugh, and cried, ‘ Why, 
no wonder they said you breathed fire ? Is not that the Indians’ 
tobacco ? ’ 

‘Yea, verily. Heaven be praised! but did you never see it 
before ? ’ 

‘ Never, though we heard talk of it along the coast ; but we 
took it for one more Spanish lie. Humph — well, live and 
learn ! ’ 

‘ Ah, Sir, no lie, but a blessed truth, as I can tell, who have 
ere now gone in the strength of this weed three days and nights 
without eating ; and therefore, Sir, the Indians always carry it 
with them on their war-parties : and no wonder ; for when all 
things were made none was made better than this ; to be a lone 
man’s companion, a bachelor’s friend, a hungry man’s food, a 
sad man’s cordial, a wakeful man’s sleep, and a chilly man’s 
fire. Sir ; while for stanching of wounds, purging of rheum, and 
settling of the stomach, there’s no herb like unto it under the 
canopy of heaven.’ 

The truth of which eulogium Amyas tested in after years, as 
shall be fully set forth in due place and time. But ‘ Mark in 
the meanwhile,’ says one of the veracious chroniclers from 
whom 1 draw these facts, writing seemingly in the palmy days 
of good Queen Anne, and ‘ not having ’ (as he says) ‘ before 
his eyes the fear of that misocapnic Solomon James I. or of 
any other lying Stuart,’ ‘ that not to South Devon, but to North ; 
not to Sir Walter Raleigh, but to Sir Amyas Leigh ; not to the 
banks of Dart, but to the banks of Torridge, does Europe owe 
the day-spring of the latter age, that age of smoke which shall 
endure and thrive, when the age of brass shall have vanished 
like those of iron and of gold ; for whereas Mr. Lane is said to 
have brought home that divine weed (as Spenser well names it) 
from Virginia in the year 1584, it is hereby indisputable that 
full four years earlier, by the bridge of Baxworthy in the Tor- 


156 


TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 


ridge moors (which all true smokers shall hereafter visit as a 
hallowed spot and point of pilgrimage), first twinkled that- fiery 
beacon and beneficent lodestar of Bidefordian commerce, to 
spread hereafter from port to port and peak to peak, like the 
watch-fires which proclaimed the coming of the Armada or the 
fall of Troy, even to the shores of the Bosphorus, the peaks 
of the Caucasus, and the farthest isles of the Malayan sea ; 
while Bideford, metropolis of tobacco, saw her Pool choked 
with Virginian traders, and the pavement of her Bridgeland 
Street groaning beneath the savory bales of roll Trinidado, leaf, 
and pudding ; and her grave burghers, bolstered and blocked 
out of their own houses by the scarce less sav.ory stockfish 
casks which filled cellar, parlor, and attic, w'ere fain to sit out- 
side the door, a silver pipe in every strong right hand, and each 
left hand chinking cheerfully the doubloons deep lodged in the 
auriferous caverns of their trunkhose ; while in those fairy-rings 
of fragrant mist, which circled round their contemplative brows, 
flitted most pleasant visions of Wiltshire farmers jogging into 
Sherborne fair, their heaviest shillings in their pockets, to buy 
(unless old Aubrey lies) the lotus-leaf of Torridge for its weight 
in silver, and draw from thence, after the example of the 
Caciques of Dariena, supplies of inspiration much needed, then 
as now, in those Gothamite regions. And yet did these improve, 
as Englishmen, upon the method of those heathen savages ; for 
the latter (so Salvation Yeo reported as a truth, and Dampier’s 
surgeon Mr. Wafer after him), when they will deliberate of 
war or policy, sit round in the hut of the chief; where being 
placed, enter to them a small boy with a cigarro of the bigness 
of a rolling-pin, and puffs the smoke thereof into the face of each 
warrior, from the eldest to the youngest ; while they, putting 
their hand funnel-wise round their mouths, draw into the sinu- 
osities of the brain that more than Delphic vapor of prophecy ; 
which boy presently falls down in a swoon, and being dragged 
out by the heels and laid by to sober, enter another to pufl' at 
the sacred cigarro, till he is dragged out likewise ; and so on till 
the tobacco is finished, and the seed of wisdom has sprouted in 
every soul into the tree of meditation, bearing the flowers of 
eloquence, and in due time the fruit of valiant action.’ With 
which quaint fact (for fact it is, in spite of the bombast), I end 
the present chapter. 


BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE. 


157 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE WAS 
FOUNDED. 

‘ It is virtue, yea virtue, gentlemen, that maketh gentlemen; that mak- 
eth the poor rich, the base-born noble, the subject a sovereign, the deformed 
beautiful, the sick whole, the weak strong, the most ndserable most happy. 
There are two principal and peculiar gifts in the nature of man, knowledge 
and reason; the one commandeth, and the other obeyeth : these things 
neither the whirling wheel of fortune can change, neither the deceitful 
cavillings of worldlings separate, neither sickness abate, neither age abol- 
ish.’ — Lilly’s Euphues, 1586. 

It now falls to my lot to write of the foundation of that most 
chivalrous Brotherhood of the Rose, which after a few years 
made itself not only famous in its native county of Devon, but 
formidable, as will be related hereafter, both in Ireland and in 
the Netherlands, in the Spanish Main and the heart of South 
America. And if this chapter shall seem to any Quixotic and 
fantastical, let them recollect that the generation who spoke and 
acted thus in matters of love and honor were, nevertheless, 
practised and valiant soldiers, and prudent and crafty politi- 
cians ; that he who wrote the Arcadia was at the same time, in 
spite of his youth, one of the subtlest diplomatists of Europe ; 
that the poet of the Faery Queene was also the author of The 
State of Ireland ; and if they shall quote against me with a 
sneer Lilly’s Euphues itself, I shall only answer • by asking — 
Have they ever read it ? For if they have done so, I pity them 
if they have not found it, in spite of occasional tediousness' and 
pedantry, as brave, righteous, and pious a book as man need 
look into ; and wish for no better proof of the nobleness and 
virtue of the Elizabethan age, than the fact that ‘ Euphues’ 
and the ‘ Arcadia ’ were the two popular romances of the day. 
It may have suited the purposes of Sir Walter Scott, in his clev- 
erly drawn Sir Piercie Shafton, to ridicule the Euphuists, and 
that ajfectatam comilatem of the travelled English of which 
Languet complains : but over and above the anachronism of the 
whole character (for, to give but one instance, the Euphuist 
knight talks of Sidney’s quarrel with Lord Oxford at least ten 


158 


HOW THE NOBLE BOTHERHOOD 


years before it happened), we do deny that Lilly’s book could, 
if read by any man of common sense, produce such a coxcomb, 
whose spiritual ancestors would rather have been Gabriel Har- 
vey and Lord Oxford, — if indeed the former has not maligned 
the latter, and ill-tempered Tom Nash maligned the maligner 
in his turn. 

But, indeed, there is a double anachronism in Sir Piercie ; 
for he does not even belong to the days of Sidney, but to those 
worse times which began in the latter years of Elizabeth, and 
after breaking her mighty heart, had full license to bear their 
crop of fools’ heads in the profligate days of James. Of them, 
perhaps hereafter. And in the meanwhile, let those who have 
not read ‘ Euphues,’ believe that, if they could train a son 
after the pattern of his Ephoebus, to the great saving of their 
own money and his virtue, all fathers, even in these money- 
making days, would rise up and call them blessed. Let us 
rather open our eyes, and see in these old Elizabeth gallants 
our own ancestors, showing forth with the luxuriant wildness of 
youth, all the virtues which still go to the making of a true 
Englishman. Let us not only see in their commercial and mili- 
tary daring, in their political astuteness, in their deep reverence 
for law, and in their solemn sense of the great calling of the 
English nation, the antetypes,or rather the examples of our own ; 
but let us confess that their chivalry is only another garb of that 
beautiful tenderness and mercy which is now, as it was then, 
the twin sister of English valor; and even in their often extrav- 
agant fondness for Continental manners and literature, let us 
recognize that old Anglo-Norman teachableness and wide-heart- 
ed ness, which has enabled us to profit by the wisdom and the 
civilization of all ages and of all lands, without prejudice to our 
own distinctive national character. 

And so 1 go to my story, which, if any one dislikes, he has 
but to turn the leaf till he finds pasturage which suits him 
better. 

Arnyas could not sail the next day, or the day after ; for the 
southwester freshened, and blew three-parts of a gale dead into 
the bay. So having got the Mary Grenvile down the river into 
Appledore pool, ready to start with the first shift of wind, he went 
quietly home ; and when his mother started on a pillion behind 
the old serving man to ride to Clovelly, where Frank lay 
wounded, he went in with her as far as Bideford, and there 
met, coming down the High Street, a procession of horsemen 
headed by Will Cary, who, clad cap-a-pie in shining armor, 
sword on thigh, and helmet at saddle-bow, looked as gallant a 
young gentleman as ever Bideford dames peeped at from door 


OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 


159 


and window. Behind him, upon country ponies, came four or 
five stout serving men, carrying his lances and baggage, and 
their own long-bows, swords, and bucklers ; and behind all, in 
a horse-litter, to Mrs. Leigh’s great joy. Master Frank himself. 
He deposed that his wounds were only flesh-wounds, the dag- 
ger having turned against his ribs ; that he must see the last of 
his brother ; and that with her good leave he would not come 
home to Burrough, but take up his abode with Cary in the Ship 
Tavern, close to the Bridgefoot. This he did forthwith, and 
settling himself on a couch, held his levee there instate, mobbed 
by all the gossips of the town, not without white fibs as to who 
had brought him into that sorry plight. 

But in the meanwhile, he and Amyas concocted a scheme, 
which was put into effect the next day (being market-day) ; 
first by the innkeeper, who began, under Amyas’s orders, 
a bustle of roasting, boiling, and frying, unparalleled in the 
annals of the Ship Tavern ; and next by Amyas himself, who, 
going out into the market, invited as many of his old school- 
fellows one by one apart, as Frank had pointed out to him, to 
a merry supper, and a ‘ rowse ’ thereon consequent ; by which 
crafty scheme, in came each of Rose Saltern’s gentle ad- 
mirers, and .^found himself, to his considerable disgust, seated 
at the same table with six rivals, to none of whom had he 
spoken for the last six months. However, all were too well 
bred to let the Leighs discern as much ; and they (though, of 
course, they knew all) settled their guests, Frank on his couch 
lying at the head of the table, and Amyas .taking the bottom ; 
and contrived, by filling all mouths with good things, to save 
them the pain of speaking to each other till the wine should 
have loosened their tongues and warmed their hearts. In the 
meanwhile both Amyas and Frank, ignoring the silence of 
their guests with the most provoking good-humor, chatted, and 
joked, and told stories, and made themselves such good com- 
pany, that Will Cary, who always found merriment infectious, 
melted into a jest, and then into another, and finding good- 
humor far more pleasant than bad, tried to make Mr. Coffin 
laugh, and only made him bow, and to make Mr. Fortescue 
laugh, and only made him frown ; and unabashed, nevertheless, 
began playing his light artillery upon the waiters, till he drove 
them out of the room bursting with laughter. 

So far so good. And when the cloth was drawn, and sack 
and sugar became the order of the day, and ‘ Queen and Bible ’ 
had been duly drunk with all the honors, Frank tried a fresh 
move, and — 

‘ I have a toast, gentlemen — here it is. “ The gentlemen 


160 


HOW THE NOBLE BEOTHERHOOD 


of the Irish wars ; and may Ireland never be without a St. 
Leger to stand by a Fortescue, a Fortescue to stand by a 
St. Leger, and a Chichester to stand by both ” ’ 

Which toast of course involved the drinking the healths of 
the three representatives of those families, and their returning 
thanks, and paying a compliment each to the other’s house : 
and so the ice cracked a little further ; and young Fortescue 
proposed the health of ‘ Amyas Leigh, and all bold mariners ; ’ 
to which Amyas replied by a few blunt kindly words, ‘that he 
wished to know no better fortune than to sail round the world 
again with the present company as fellow adventurers, and so 
give the Spaniards another taste of the men of Devon.’ 

And by this time, the wine going down sweetly, caused the 
lips of them that were asleep to speak ; till the ice broke up 
altogether, and every man began talking like a rational Eng- 
lishman to the man who sat next to him. 

‘And now, gentlemen,’ said Frank, who saw that it was the 
fit moment for the grand assault which he had planned all 
along ; ‘ let me give you a health which none of you, I dare 
say, will refuse to drink with heart and soul as well as with 
lips ; — the health of one whom beauty and virtue have so en- 
nobled, that in their light the shadow of lowly birth is unseen ; 
— the health of one whom 1 would proclaim as peerless in 
loveliness, were it not that every gentleman here has sisters, 
who might well challenge from her the girdle of Venus : and 
yet what else dare I say, while those same lovely ladies who, if 
they but use their own mirrors, must needs be far better judges 
of beauty than I can be, have in my own hearing again and 
again assigned the palm to her ? Surely, if th^ goddesses 
decide among themselves the question of the golden apple, 
Paris himself must vacate the judgment-seat. Gentlemen, 
your hearts, I doubt not, have already bid you, as my unworthy 
lips do now, to drink “ The Rose of Torridge.” ’ 

If the Rose of Torridge herself had walked into the room, 
she could hardly have caused more blank astonishment than 
Frank’s bold speech. Every guest turned red, and pale, and 
red again, and looked at the other, as much as to say, ‘ What 
right has any one but I to drink her ? Lift your glass, and I 
will dash it out of your hand:’ but Frank, with sweet effron- 
tery, drank, ‘ The health of the Rose of Torridge, and a double 
health to that worthy gentleman, whosoever he may be, whom 
she is fated to honor with her love ! ’ 

‘ Well done, cunning Frank Leigh ! ’ cried blunt Will Cary ; 

‘ none of us dare quarrel with you now, however much we may 
sulk at each other. For there’s none of us, I’ll warrant, but 


OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 161 

thinks that she likes hinn the best of all ; and so we are bound to 
believe that you have drunk our healths all round.’ 

‘ And so I have : and what better thing can you do, gentle- 
men, than to drink each other’s healths all round likewise; and 
so show yourselves true gentlemen, true Christians, ay, and 
true lovers ? For what is love (let me speak freely to you, 
gentlemen and guests) ; what is love, but the very inspiration 
of that Deity whose name is Love ? Be sure that not without 
reason did the ancients feign Eros to be the eldest of the gods, 
by whom the jarring elements of chaos were attuned into har- 
mony and order. How then shall lovers make him the father 
of strife ? Shall Psyche wed with Cupid, to bring forth a 
cockatrice’s egg ? or the soul be filled with love, the likeness 
of the immortals, to burn with envy and jealousy, division and 
distrust ? True, the rose has its thorn : but it leaves poison 
and stings to the nettle. Cupid has his arrow : but he hurls no 
scorpions. Venus is awful when despised, as the daughters of 
Proetus found : but her handmaids are the Graces, not the 
Furies. Surely he who loves aright will not only find love 
lovely, but become himself lovely also. I speak not to repre- 
hend you, gentlemen ; for to you (as your piercing wits have 
already perceived, to judge by your honorable blushes) my dis- 
course tends ; but to point you, if you will but permit me, to 
that rock which I myself have, I know not by what Divine good 
hap, attained ; if, indeed, I have attained it, and am not about to 
be washed off again by the next tide.’ 

Frank’s rapid arxl fantastic oratory, utterly unexpected as it 
was, had as yet left their wits no time to set their tempers on 
fire; but when weak from his wounds, he paused for breath, 
there was a haughty murmur from more than one young gen- 
tleman, who took his speech as an impertinent interference 
with each man’s right to make a fool of himself ; and Mr. 
Coffin, who had sat quietly bolt upright, and looking at the 
opposite wall, now rose as quietly, and with a face which tried 
to look utterly unconcerned, was walking out of the room : 
another minute, and Lady Bath’s prophecy about the feast of 
the Lapithse might have come true. 

But Frank’s heart and head never failed him. 

‘ Mr. Coffin ! ’ said he, in a tone which compelled that gen- 
tleman to turn round, and so brought him under the power of a 
face which none could have beheld for five minutes and borne 
malice, so imploring, tender, earnest was it. ‘ My dear Mr. 
Coffin ! If my earnestness has made me forget even for a 
moment the bounds of courtesy, let me entreat you to forgive 
me. Do not add to my heavy griefs, heavy enough already, 

14 # 


162 now THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD. 

the grief of. losing a friend. Only hear me patiently to the 
end (generously, 1 know, you will hear rrie) ; and then, if you 
are still incensed, I can but again entreat your forgiveness a 
second time.’ 

Mr. Coffin, to tell the truth, had at that time never been to 
Court; and he was, therefore, somewhat jealous of Frank, and 
his Court talk, and his Court clothes, and his Court company ; 
and, moreover, being the eldest of the guests, and only two 
years younger than Frank himself, he was a little nettled at 
being classed in the same category with some who were scarce 
eighteen. And if Frank had given the least hint which seemed 
to assume his own superiority, all had been lost: but when, 
instead thereof, he sued in forma pauperis^ and threw himself 
upon Coffin’s mercy, the latter, who was a true-hearted man 
enough, and after all had known Frank ever since either of 
them could walk, had nothing to do but to sit down again and 
submit, while Frank went on more earnestly than ever. 

‘ Believe me ; believe me, Mr. Coffin, and gentlemen all, I 
no more arrogate to myself a superiority over you, than does 
the sailor, hurled * on shore by the surge, fancy himself better 
than his comrade who is still battling with the foam. For I, 
too, gentlemen, — let me confess it, that by confiding in you 
I may, perhaps, win you to confide in me, — have loved, ay 
and do love, where you love also. Do not start. Is it a mat- 
ter of wonder that the sun which has dazzled you has dazzled 
me ; that the loadstone which has drawn you has drawn me ? 
Do not frown, either, gentlemen. I have learnt'to love you for 
loving what I love, and to admire you for admiring that which 
I admire. Will you not try the same lesson ; so easy, and, 
when learnt, so blissful ? What breeds more close communion 
between subjects, than allegiance to the same Queen ? between 
brothers, than duty to the same father ? between the devout, 
than adoration for the same Deity ? And shall not worship for 
the same beauty be likewise a bond of love between the wo'r- 
shippers ? and each lover see in his rival not an enemy, but 
a fellow-sufTerer ? You smile, and say in your hearts, that 
though all may worship, but one can enjoy ; and that one 
man’s meat must be the poison of the rest. Be it so, though I 
deny it. Shall we anticipate our own doom, and slay ourselves 
for fear of dying ? Shall we make ourselves unworthy of her 
from our very eagerness to win her, and show ourselves her 
faithful knights, by cherishing envy, — most unknightly of all 
sms ? Shall we dream with the Italian or the Spaniard that we 
can become more amiable in a lady’s eyes, by becoming hate- 
ful in the eyes of God and of each other Will she love us the 


OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 


' . 163 


better, if we come to her with hands stained in the blood of 
him whom she loves better than us ? Let us recollect our- 
selves rather, gentlemen ; and be sure that our only chance of 
winning her, if she be worth winning, is to will what she wills, 
honor whom she honors, love whom she loves. If there is to 
be rivalry among us, let it be a rivalry in nobleness, an emula- 
tion in virtue. Let each try to outstrip the other in loyalty to 
his Queen, in valor against her foes, in deeds of courtesy and 
mercy to the afflicted and oppressed ; and thus our love will in- 
deed prove its own divine origin, by raising us nearer to those 
gods whose gift it is. But yet I show you a more excellent 
way, and that is charity. Why should we not make this com- 
mon love to her, whom I am unworthy to name, the sacrament 
of a common love to each other.? Why should we not follow 
the heroical examples of those ancient knights, who having but 
one grief, one desire, one goddess, held that one heart was 
enough to contain that grief, to nourish that desire, to worship 
that divinity ; and so uniting themselves in friendship till they 
became but one soul in two bodies, lived only for each other 
in living only for her, vowing, as faithful worshippers, to abide 
by her decision, to find their own bliss in hers, and whomso- 
ever she esteemed most worthy of her love, to esteem most 
worthy also, and count themselves, by that her choice, the 
bounden servants of him whom their mistress had condescended 
to advance to the dignity of her master? — as I (not without 
hope that I shall be outdone in generous strife) do here 
promise to be the faithful friend, and, to my ability, the hearty 
servant, of him who shall be honored with the love of the Rose 
of Torridge.’ 

He ceased, and there was a pause. 

At last young Fortescue spoke. 

‘I may be paying you a left-handed compliment. Sir ; but it 
seems to me that you are so likely, in that case, to become 
your own faithful friend and hearty servant (even if you have 
not borne off the belle already while we have been asleep), 
that the bargain is hardly fair between such a gay Italianist and 
us country swains.’ 

‘ You undervalue yourself and your country, my dear Sir. 
But set your mind at rest. I know no more of that lady’s mind 
than you do: nor shall 1 know. For the sake of my own 
peace, I have made a vow neither to see her, nor to hear, if 
possible, tidings of her, till three full years are past. Dixi ! ’ 

Mr. Coffin rose. 

‘ Gentlemen, I may submit to be outdone by Mr. Leigh in 


164 


HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD 


eloquence, but not in generosity ; if he leaves these parts for 
three years, I do so also.’ 

‘ And go in charity with all nnankind,’ said Cary. ‘ Give us 
your hand, old fellow. If you are a CofRn, you were sawn 
out of no wishy-washy elm-board, but right heart-of-oak. I 
am going, too, as Amyas here can tell, to Ireland away, to 
cool my hot liver in a bog, like a Jack-hare in March. Come, 
give us thy neif, and let us part in peace. I was minded to 
have fought thee this day — ’ 

‘ I should have been most happy, Sir,’ said Coffin. 

— ‘But now I am all love and charity to mankind. Can I 
have the pleasure of begging pardon of the world in general, 
and thee in particular ? Does any one wish to pull my nose ; 
send me an errand ; make me lend him five pounds ; ay, make 
me buy a horse of him, which will be as good as giving him 
ten .? Come along ! Join hands all round, and swear eternal 
friendship, as brothers of the sacred order of the — of what 
Frank Leigh.? Open thy mouth, Daniel, and christen us !’ 

‘ The Rose ! ’ said Frank, quietly, seeing that his new love- 
philtre was working well, and determined to strike while the iron 
was hot, and carry the matter too far to carry it back again. 

‘ The Rose ! ’ cried Cary, catching hold of Coffin’s hand with 
his right, and Fortescue’s with his left. ‘ Come, Mr. Coffin ! 
Bend, sturdy oak ! “Woe to the stiffnecked and stout-hearted,” 
says Scripture.’ 

And somehow or other, whether it was Frank’s chivalrous 
speech, or Cary’s fun, or Amyas’s good wine, or the nobleness 
which lies in every young lad’s heart, if their elders will take 
the trouble to call it out, the whole party came into terms 
one by one, shook hands ali round, and vowed on the hilt of 
Amyas’s sword, to make fools of themselves no more, at least 
by jealousy : but to stand by each other and by their lady- 
love, and neither grudge nor grumble, let her dance with, flirt 
with, or marry with, whom she would ; and in order that the 
honor of their peerless dame, and the brotherhood which was 
named after her, might be spread through all lands, and equal 
that of Angelica or Isonde of Brittany, they would each go 
home, and ask their father’s leave (easy enough to obtain in 
those brave times) to go abroad wheresoever there were ‘ good 
wars,’ to emulate there the courage and the courtesy of Walter 
Manny and Gonzalo Fernaiides, Bayard and Gaston de Foix. 
Why not .? Sidney was the hero of Europe at five-and-twenty ; 
and why not they .? 

And Frank watched and listened with one of his quiet smiles 


OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 


.165 


(his eyes, as some folks’ do, smiled even when his lips were 
still), and only said ; ‘ Gentlemen, be sure that you will never 
repent this day.’ 

‘ Repent ’ said Cary. ‘ I feel already as angelical as thou 
lookest, Saint Silvertongue, What was it that sneezed ? — the 
cat ? ’ 

‘ The lion, rather, by the roar of it,’ said Amyas, making a 
dash at the arras behind him. ‘ Why, here is a doorway here ! 

And rushing under the arras, through an open door behind, 
he returned, dragging out by the head Mr. John Brimblecombe. 

Who was Mr. John Brimblecombe.? 

If you have forgotten him, you have done pretty nearly what 
every one else in the room had done. But you recollect a cer- 
tain fat lad, son of the schoolmaster, whom Sir Richard pun- 
ished for talebearing three years before, by sending him, not to 
Coventry, but to Oxford. That was the man. He was now 
one-and-twenty, and a bachelor of Oxford, where he had learnt 
such things as were taught in those days, with more or less 
success ; and he was now hanging about Bideford once more, 
intending to return after Christmas and read divinity, that he 
might become a parson, and a shepherd of souls in his native 
land. 

Jack was in person exceedingly like a pig ; but not like every 
pig : not in the least like the Devon pigs of those days, which, 

1 am sorry to say, were no more shapely than the true Irish 
greyhound who pays Pat’s ‘rint’ for him ; or than the lanky 
monsters who wallow in German rivulets,, while the village 
swine-herd, beneath a shady lime, forgets his fleas in the melody 
of a Jew’s-harp, — strange mud-colored creatures, four feet 
high and four inches thick, which look as if they had passed 
their lives, as a collar of Oxford brawn is said to do, between 
two tight boards. Such were then the pigs of Devon : not to 
be compared with the true wild descendant of Noah’s stock, 
high-withered, furry, grizzled, game flavored little rooklers, 
whereof many a sownder still grunted about Swinley down and 
Braunton woods, Clovelly glens and Bursdon moor. Not like 
these, nor like the tame abomination of those barbarous times, 
was Jack : but prophetic in face, figure and complexion, of 
Fisher Hobbs and the triumphs of science. A Fisher Hobbs’ 
pig of twelve stone, on his hind-legs — that was what he was, 
and nothing else ; and if you do not know, reader, what a Fisher 
Hobbs is, you know nothing about pigs, and deserve no bacon 
for breakfast. But such was Jack. The same plump, mulberry 
complexion, garnished with a few scattered black bristles ; the 


166 


HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD 


same sleek skin, looking always as if it was upon the point of 
bursting ; the same little toddling legs ; the same dapper bend 
in the small of the back; the same cracked squeak ; the same 
low, upright forehead, and tiny eyes ; the same round, self-satis- 
fied jowl ; the same charming, sensitive, little cocked nose, always 
on the lookout for a savory smell, — and yet, while watching 
for the best, contented with the worst ; a pig of self-helpful and 
serene spirit, as Jack was, and therefore, like him, fatting fast 
while other pigs’ ribs are staring through their skins. 

Such was Jack ; and lucky it was for him that such he was ; 
for it was little that he got to fat him at Oxford, in days when a 
servitor meant really a servant-student ; and wistfully that day 
did his eyes, led by his nose, survey at the end of the Ship Inn 
passage, the preparations for Amyas’s supper. The innkeeper 
was a friend of his ; for, in the first place, they had lived with- 
in three doors of each other all their lives ; and next. Jack was 
quite pleasant company enough, beside being a learned man 
and an Oxford scholar, to be asked in now and then to the inn- 
keeper’s private parlor, when there were no gentlemen there, 
to crack his little joke and tell his little story, sip the leavings 
of the guests’ sack, and sometimes help the host to eat the 
leavings of their supper. And it was, perhaps, with some such 
hope that Jack trotted off round the corner to the Ship that very 
afternoon ; for that faithful little nose of his, as it sniffed out of 
a back window of the school, had given him warning of Sabean 
gales, and scents of Paradise, from the inn kitchen below ; so 
he went round and asked for his pot of small ale (his only lux- 
ury), and stood at the bar to drink it ; and looked inward with 
his little twinkling right eye, and sniffed inward with his little 
curling right nostril, and beheld, in the kitchen beyond, salad in 
stacks and faggots ; salad of lettuce, salad of cress and endive, 
salad of boiled coleworts, salad of pickled coleworts, salad of 
angelica, salad of scurvy-wort, and seven salads more ; for 
potatoes were not as yet, and salads were during eight months 
of the year the only vegetable. And on the dresser, and before 
the fire, whole hecatombs of fragrant victims, which needed 
neither frankincense nor myrrh ; Clovelly herrings, and Tor- 
ridge salmon, Exmoor mutton and Stow venison, stubble geese 
and woodcocks, curlew and snipe, hams of Hampshire, chitter- 
lings of Taunton, and botargos of Cadiz, such as Pantagruel 
himself might have devoured. And Jack eyed them, as a ragged 
boy eyes the cakes in a pastrycook’s window ; and thought of 
the scraps from the commoners’ dinner, which were his wages 
for cleaning out the hall ; and meditated deeply on the unequal 
distribution of human bliss. 


OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 


167 


‘ Ah, Mr. Brimblecombe ! ’ said the host, bustling out with 
knife and apron to cool himself in the passage. ‘ Here are 
doings ! Nine gentlemen to supper ! ’ 

‘ Nine ! Are they going to eat all that ? ’ 

‘ Well, I can’t say — that Mr. Amyas is as good as three 
to his trencher : but still there’s crumbs, Mr. Brimblecombe, 
crumbs ; and ‘‘ Waste not, want not,” is my doctrine ; so you and 
1 may have a somewhat to stay our stomachs, about an eight 
o’clock.’ 

‘ Eight ? ’ said Jack, looking wistfully at the clock. ‘ It’s 
but four now. Well, it’s kind of you, and perhaps I’ll look in.’ 

‘ Just you step in now, and look to this venison. There’s a 
breast ! you may lay your two fingers into the say there, and 
not get to the bottom of the fat. That’s Sir Richard’s sending. 
He’s all for them Leighs, and no wonder, they’m brave lads, 
surely ; and there’s a saddle-o’-mutton ! I rode twenty miles 
for mun yesterday, I did, over beyond Barnstaple ; and five 
year old, Mr. John, it is, if ever five years was ; and not a tooth 
to mun’s head, for I looked to that ; and smelt all the way home 
like any apple ; and if it don’t ate so soft as ever was scald 
cream, never you call me Thomas Burman.’ 

‘ Humph ! ’ said Jack. ‘ And that’s their dinner. Well, some 
are born with a silver spoon in their mouth.’ 

‘ Some be born with roast beef in their mouths, and plum- 
pudding in their pocket to take away the taste o’ mun ; and 
that’s better than empty spunes, eh ? ’ 

‘ For them that get it,’ said Jack. ‘ But for them that don’t — ’ 
And with a sigh he returned to his small ale, and then lingered 
in and out-of the inn, watching the dinner as it went into the 
best room where the guests were assembled. 

And as he lounged there, Amyas went in, and saw him, and 
held out his hand, and said, — 

‘ Hillo, Jack ! how goes the world ? How you’ve grown ! ’ 
and passed on ; — what had Jack Brimblecombe to do with 
Rose Salterne ? 

So Jack lingered on, hovering around the fragrant smell like 
a fly round a honey-pot, till he found himself invisibly attracted, 
and as it were led by the nose, out of the passage into the 
adjoining room, and to that side of the room where there was a 
door; and once there he could not help hearing what passed 
inside ; till Rose Salterne’s name fell on his ear. So, as it was 
ordained, he was taken in the fact. And now behold him 
brought in red-hand to judgment, not without a kick or two 
from the wrathful foot of Ainyas Leigh. Whereat there fell 
on him a storm of abuse, wliich, for the honor of that gallant 


168 


HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD 


company, I shall not give in detail ; but which abuse, strange 
to say, seemed to have no effect on the impenitent and un- 
abashed Jack, who, as soon as he could get his breath, made 
answer fiercely, amid much puffing and blowing. 

‘ What business have I here ? As much as any of you. If 
you had asked me in, I would have come : but as you didn’t, I 
came without asking.’ 

‘ You shameless rascal ! ’ said Cary. ‘ Come if you were 
asked, where there was good wine ? I’ll warrant you for that ! ’ 

‘Why,’ said Amyas, ‘no lad ever had a cake at school, but 
he would dog him up one street and down another all day for 
the crumbs, the trencher-scraping spaniel ! ’ 

‘ Patience, masters ! said Frank. ‘ That Jack is somewhat 
of a gnathonic and parasitic soul, or stomach, all Bideford 
apple-women know : but I suspect more than Deus Venter has 
brought him hither.’ 

‘ Deus eaves-dropping, then. We shall have the whole story 
over the town by to-morrow,’ said another; beginning at that 
thought to feel somewhat-ashamed of his late enthusiasm. 

‘ Ah, Mr. Frank ! You were always the only one that would 
stand up for me! Deus Venter, quotha? ’Twas Deus Cupid, 
it was 1 ’ 

A roar of laughter followed this announcement. 

‘What?’ asked Frank; ‘was it Cupid, then, who sneezed 
approval to our love. Jack, as he did to that of Dido and 
iEneas ? ’ 

But Jack went on desperately. 

‘ I was in the next room, drinking of my beer. I couldn’t 
help that, could I ? And then I heard her name ; and I couldn’t 
help listening then. Flesh and blood couldn’t.’ 

‘ Nor fat either 1 ’ 

‘ No, nor fat, Mr. Cary. Do you suppose fat men haven’t 
souls to be saved, as well as thin ones, and hearts to burst, too, 
as well as stomachs ? Fat I Fat can feel, I reckon, as well as 
lean. Do you suppose there’s nought inside here but beer ? ’ 

And he laid his hand, as Drayton might have said, on that 
stout bastion, hornwork, ravelin, or demilune, which formed the 
outworks to the citadel of his purple isle of man. 

‘ Nought but beer ? — Cheese, I suppose ? ’ 

‘ Bread ? ’ 

‘Beef?’ 

‘Love!’ cried Jack. ‘Yes, Love! — Ay, you laugh; but 
my eyes are not so grown up with fat but what 1 can see what’s 
fair as well as you.’ 


OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 


169 


‘ Oh Jack, naughty Jack, dost thou heap sin on sin, and 
luxury on gluttony ? ’ 

‘Sin? If I sin, you sin. I tell you, and I don’t care who 
knows it, I’ve loved her these three years as well as e’er a 
one of you, I have. I’ve thought o’ nothing else, prayed for 
nothing else, God forgive me ! And then you laugh at me 
because I’m a poor parson’s son, and you fine gentlemen. God 
made us both, I reckon. You? — you make a deal of giving 
her up to-day. Why, it’s what I’ve done for three miserable 
years as ever poor sinner spent ; ay, from the first day I said to 
myself, “Jack, if you can’t have that pearl, you’ll have none; 
and. that you can’t have, for it’s meat for your masters: so 
conquer or die.” And 1 couldn’t conquer. I can’t help loving 
her, worshipping her, no more than you ; and I will die : but 
you needn’t laugh meanwhile at me that have done as much as 
you, and will do again.’ 

‘It is the old tale,’ said Frank to himself; ‘whom will not 
love transform into a hero ? ’ 

And so it was. Jack’s squeaking voice was firm and manly, 
his pig’s eyes flashed very fire, his gestures were so free and 
earnest, that the ungainliness of his figure was forgotten ; and 
when he finished with a violent burst of tears, Frank, forgetting 
his wounds, sprang up and caught him by the hand. 

‘John Brimblecombe, forgive me! Gentlemen, if we are 
gentlemen, we ought to ask his pardon. Has he not shown 
already more chivalry, more self-denial, and therefore more 
true love, than any of us ? My friends, let the fierceness of 
affection, which we have used as an excuse for many a sin of 
our own, excuse his listening to a conversation in which he 
well deserved to bear a part.’ 

‘ Ah,’ said Jack, ‘ you make me one of your brotherhood ; 
and see if I do not dare to suffer as much as any of you ! 
You laugh ? Do you fancy none can use a sword unless he 
has a baker’s dozen of quarterings in his arms, or that Oxford 
scholars know only how to handle a pen ?’ 

‘ Let us try his metal,’ said St. Leger. ‘ Here’s my sword, 
Jack ; draw. Coffin ! and have at him.’ 

‘Nonsense!’ said Coffin, looking somewhat disgusted at the 
notion of fighting a man of Jack’s rank : but Jack caught at the 
weapon oflered to him. 

‘ Give me a buckler, and have at any of you !’ 

‘ Here’s a chair bottom,’ cried Cary ; and Jack, seizing it in 
his left, flourished his sword so fiercely, and called so loudly 
to Coffin to come on, that all present found it necessary, unless 
15 


170 


HO'W THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD 


they wished blood to be spilt, to turn the matter off with a 
laugh : but Jack would not hear of it. 

‘Nay: if you will let me be of your brotherhood, well and 
good ; but if not, one or other I will fight; and that’s flat.’ 

‘You see, gentlemen,’ said Amyas, ‘ we must admit him, or 
die the death ; so we needs must go when Sir Urian drives. 
Come up. Jack, and take the oaths. You admit him, gentle- 
men ? ’ 

‘Let me but be your chaplain,’ said Jack, ‘and pray for 
your luck when you’re at the wars. If I do stay at home in a 
country curacy, ’tis not much that you need be jealous of. me 
with her, I reckon,’ said Jack, with a pathetical glance at. his 
own stomach. 

‘Sia!’ said Cary: ‘but if he be admitted, it must be done 
according to the solemn forms and ceremonies in such cases 
provided. Take him into the next room, Amyas, and prepare 
him for his initiation.’ 

‘What’s that ’ asked Amyas, puzzled by the word. But 
judging from the corner of Will’s eye, that initiation was Latin 
for a practical joke, he led forth his victim behind the* arras 
again, and waited five minutes while the room was being 
darkened, till Frank’s voice called to him to bring in the 
neophyte. 

‘John Brimblecombe,’ said Frank, in a sepulchral tone, 
‘ you cannot be ignorant, as a scholar and bachelor of Oxford, 
of that dread sacrament by which Catiline bound the soul of 
his fellow conspirators, in order that both by the daring of the 
deed he might have proof of their sincerity, and by the horror 
thereof astringe their souls by adamantine fetters, and Novem- 
Stygian oaths, to that wherefrom hereafter the weakness of the 
flesh might shrink. Wherefore, O Jack ! we too have deter- 
mined following that ancient and classical example, to fill, as 
he did, a bowl with the life-blood of our most heroic selves, 
and to pledge each other therein, with vows whereat the stars 
shall tremble in their spheres, and Luna, blushing, veil her 
silver cheeks. Your blood alone is wanted to fill up the goblet. 
Sit down, John Brimblecombe, and bare your arm !’ 

‘ But, Mr. Frank! — ’ said Jack, who was as superstitious as 
any old wife, and, what with the darkness and the discourse, 
already in a cold perspiration. 

‘ But me no huts ! or depart as recreant, not by the door like 
a man, but up the chimney like a flitter-mouse.’ 

‘But, Mr. Frank 1’ 

‘ Thy vital juice, or the chimney ! Choose ! ’ roared Cary in 
his ear. 


or THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 


171 


‘ Well, if I must:’ said Jack; ‘but it’s desperate hard that 
because you can’t keep faith without these barbarous oaths, I 
must take them too, that have kept faith these three years 
without any.’ 

At this pathetic appeal, Frank nearly melted: but Amyas 
and Cary had thrust the victim into a chair, and all was pre- 
pared for the sacrifice. 

‘ Bind his eyes, according to the classic fashion,’ said Will. 

‘ Oh, no, dear Mr. Cary ; I’ll shut them tight enough, I 
warrant: but not with your dagger, dear Mr. William — sure, 
not with your dagger.? I can’t afford to lose blood, though [ 
do look lusty — I can’t, indeed; sure, a pin would do — I’ve 
got one here, to my sleeve, somewhere — Oh !’ 

‘ See the fount of generous juice ! Flow on, fair stream. 
How he bleeds ! — pints, quarts ! Ah, this proves him to be in 
earnest ! ’ 

‘ A true lover’s blood is always at his fingers’ ends.’ 

‘He does not grudge it; of course not. Eh, Jack'.? What 
matters an odd gallon for her sake .? ’ 

‘ For her sake .? Nothing, nothing ! Take my life, if you 
will: but — Oh, gentlemen, a surgeon, if you love me! I’m 
going off — I’m fainting ! ’ 

‘ Drink, then, quick ; drink and swear! Pat his back, Cary. 
Courage, man ! it will be over in a minute. Now, Frank ! — ’ 

And Frank spoke — 

* If plighted troth I fail, or secret speech reveal, 

May Cocytean ghosts around my pillow squeal ; 

W'hile Ate’s brazen claws distringe n)y spleen in sunder. 

And drag me deep to Pluto’s keep, ’mid brimstone, smoke, and thunder ! 

‘ Placetne, domine .? ’ 

‘Placet!’ squeaked Jack, who thought himself at the last 
gasp, and gulped down full three-quarters of the goblet which 
Cary held to his lips. 

‘ Ugh — Ah — Puh ! Mercy on us! It tastes mighty like 
• wine ! ’ 

‘ A proof, my virtuous brother,’ said Frank, ‘ first, of thy 
abstemiousness, which has thus forgotten what wine tastes like ; 
and next, of thy pure and heroical affection, by which thy 
carnal senses being exalted to a higher and supra-lunar sphere, 
like those Platonical djemonizomenoi and enthusiazomenoi (of 
whom Jamblichus says that they were insensible to wounds 
and flame, and much more, therefore, to evil savors), doth 
make even the most nauseous draught redolent of that celestial 
fragrance, which proceeding, O Jack ! from thine own inward 


172 


BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE. 


virtue, assimilates by sympathy even outward accidents unto 
its own harmony and melody ; for fragrance is, as has been 
said well, the song of flowers, and sweetness, the music of 
apples — Ahem ! Go in peace, thou hast conquered ! ’ 

‘ Put him out of the door. Will,’ said Amyas, ‘ or he will 
swoon on our hands.’ 

‘ Give him some sack,’ said Frank. 

‘ Not a blessed drop of yours. Sir,’ said Jack. ‘I like good 
wine as well as any man on earth, and see as little of it : but 
not a drop of yours. Sirs, after your frumps and flouts about 
hanging on and trencher-scraping. When I first began to love 
her, I bid good-bye to all dirty tricks; for I had some one then 
for whom to keep myself clean.’ 

And so Jack was sent home, with a pint of good red Alicant 
wine in him (more, poor fellow, than he had tasted at once in 
his life before) ; while the rest, in high glee with themselves 
and the rest of the world, relighted the candles, had a right 
merry evening, and parted like good friends and sensible gen- 
tlemen of Devon, thinking (all except Frank) Jack Brimble- 
combe and his vow the merriest jest they had heard for many 
a day. • After which they all departed : Amyas and Cary to 
Winter’s squadron; Frank (as soon as he could travel) to the 
Court again; and with him young Basset, whose father Sir 
Arthur, being in London, procured for him a page’s place in 
Leicester’s household. Fortescue and Chichester went to their 
brothers in Dublin ; St. Leger * to his uncle the Marshal of 
Munster; Coffin joined Champernoun and Norris in the Nether- 
lands ; and so the Brotherhood of the Rose was scattered far 
and wide, and Mistress Salterne was left alone with her looking- 
glass. 




HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


173 


CHAPTER IX. 

HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


* Take aim, you noble musqueteers, 

And shoot you round about; 

Stand to it, valiant pikemen, 

And we shall keep them out. 

There’s not a man of all of U3 . 

A foot will backward flee; 

I’ll be the foremost man in fight, 

Says brave Lord Willoughby ! ’ 

Elizabethan Ballad. 

It was the blessed Christmas afternoon. The light was fading 
down ; the even-song was done ; and the good folks of Bideford 
were trooping home in merry groups, the father with his chil- 
dren, the lover with his sweetheart, to cakes and ale, and flap- 
dragons and mummer’s plays, and all the happy sports of 
Christmas night. One lady only, wrapped close in her black 
muffler and followed by her maid, walked swiftly, yet sadly, 
along the strand and across the long causeway and bridge which 
led toward Northam town. Sir John Chichester, going home 
to Ralegh House with all his posse of sons and daughters, caught 
her up and stopped her courteously. 

‘ You will come home with us, Mrs. Leigh,’ said lady Chi- 
chester, ‘ and spend a pleasant Christmas night ? ’ 

Mrs. Leigh smiled sweetly, and laying one hand on Lady 
Chichester’s arm, pointed with the other to the westward and 
said, — 

‘ I cannot well spend a merry Christmas night, while that 
sound is in my ears.’ 

The whole party around looked in the direction in which she 
pointed. Above their heads the soft blue sky was fading into 
gray, and here and there a misty star peeped out : but to the 
westward, where the downs and woods of Ralegh closed in 
with those of Abbotsham, the blue was wedded and tufted with 
delicate white flakes ; irridescent spots, marking the path by 
which the sun had sunk, showed all the colors of the dying dol- 
5 * 


174 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


phin ; and low on the horizon lay a long band of grassy green. 
But what was the sound which troubled Mrs. Leigh ? None of 
them, with their merry hearts, and ears dulled with the din and 
bustle of the town, had heard it till that moment : and yet now 
— listen ! It was dead calm. There was not a breath to stir 
a blade of grass. And yet the air was full of sound, a low 
deep roar which hovered over down and wood, salt-marsh and 
river, like the roll of a thousand wheels, the tramp of endless 
armies, or — what it was — the thunder of a mighty surge upon 
the boulders of the pebble ridge. 

‘ The ridge is noisy to-night,’ said Sir John. ‘ There will be 
wind to-morrow.’ 

‘ There is wind now, where my boy is, God help him ! ’ said 
Mrs. Leigh ; and all knew that she spoke truly. The spirit of 
the Atlantic storm had sent forward the token of his coming, 
in the smooth ground swell which was heard inland, two miles 
away. To-morrow the pebbles, which are now rattling down 
with each retreating wave, might be leaping to the ridge top, 
and hurled like round-shot far ashore upon the marsh by the 
force of the advancing wave, fleeing before the wrath of the 
western hurricane. 

‘ And God help my boys, too,’ said Lady Chichester. 

‘ They are safe on shore, dear madam : but where is mine .? ’ 

‘ God is as near him by sea as by land,’ said good Sir John. 

‘ True : but I am a lone mother ; and one that has no heart 
just now but to go home and pray.’ 

And so Mrs. Leigh went onward up the lane, and spent all 
that night in listening between her prayers to the thunder of the 
surge, till it was drowned, long ere the sun arose, in the thunder 
of the storm. 

And where is Amyas on this same Christmas afternoon ? 

Amyas is sitting bare-headed in a boat’s stern in Smerwick 
bay, with the spray whistling through his curls, as he shouts 
cheerfully, — 

‘ Pull, and with a will, my merry men all, and never mind 
shipping a sea. Cannon balls are a cargo that don’t spoil by 
taking salt water.’ 

His mother’s presage has been true enough. Christmas-eve 
has been the last of the still, dark, steaming nights of the early 
winter; and the western gale has been roaring for the last 
twelve hours upon the Irish coast. 

The short light of the winter day is fading fast. Behind him 
is the leaping line of billows lashed into mists by the tempest. 
Beside him green foam-fringed columns are rushing up the black 
rocks, and falling again in a thousand cataracts of snow, Before 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


175 


him is the deep and sheltered bay : but it is not far up the bay that 
he and his can see ; for some four miles out at sea begins a slop- 
ing roof of thick gray cloud, which stretches over their heads 
and up and far away inland, cutting the cliffs off at mid-height, 
hiding all the Kerry mountains, and darkening the hollows of 
the distant firths into the blackness of night. And underneath 
that awful roof of whirling mist the storm is howling inland 
ever, sweeping before it the great foam-sponges, and the 
gray salt spray, till all the land is hazy, dim, and dun. Let it 
howl on ! for there is more mist than ever salt spray made, fly- 
ing before that gale ; more thunder than ever sea-surge wakened 
echoing among the cliffs of Smerwick bay ; along those sand- 
hills flash in the evening gloom red sparks which never came 
from heaven ; for that fort, now christened by the invaders the 
Fort del Oro, where flaunts the hated golden flag of Spain, 
holds San Josepho and eight hundred of the foe ; and but three 
nights ago, Amyas and Yeo, and the rest of Winter’s shrewdest 
hands, slung four culverins out of the Admiral’s main deck, 
and floated them ashore, and dragged them up to the battery 
among the sand-hills ; and now it shall be seen whether Spanish 
and Italian condottieri can hold their own on British ground 
against the men of Devon. 

Small blame to Amyas if he was thinking, not of his lonely 
mother at Burrough Court, but of those quick bright flashes on 
sand-hill and on fort, where Salvation Yeo was hurling the 
eighteen-pound shot with deadly aim, and watching, with a cool 
and bitter smile of triumph, the flying of the sand, and the 
crashing of the gabions. Amyas and his party had been on 
board, at the risk of their lives, for a fresh supply of shot; for 
Winter’s battery was out of ball, and had been firing stones for 
the last four hours, in default of better missiles. They ran the 
boat on shore through the surf, where a cove. in the shore made 
landing possible, and almost careless whether she stove or not, 
scrambled over the sand-hills with each man his brace of shot 
slung across his shoulder ; and Amyas, leaping into the trenches, 
shouted cheerfully to Salvation Yeo. 

‘ More food for the bull-dogs. Gunner, and plums for the 
Spaniards’ Christmas pudding ! ’ 

‘ Don’t speak to a man at liis business. Master Amyas. Five 
mortal times have I missed ; but I will have that accursed Popish 
rag down, as I’m a sinner.’ 

‘ Down with it, then ; nobody wants you to shoot crooked. 
Take good iron to it, and not footy paving-stones.’ 

‘ I believe. Sir, that the foul fiend is there, a turning of my 
balls aside, I do. I thought I saw him once : but, thank heaven. 


176 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


here’s ball again. Ah, Sir, if one could but cast a silver one ! 
Now, stand by, men ! ’ 

And once again Yeo’s eighteen-pounder roared, and away. 
And, oh glory ! the great yellow flag of Spain, which streamed 
in the gale, lifted clean into the air, flagstaff and all, and then 
pitched widely down head-foremost, far to leeward. 

A hurrah from the sailors, answered by the soldiers of the 
opposite camp, shook the very cloud above them : but ere its 
echoes had died away, a tall officer leapt upon the parapet of 
the fort, with the fallen flag in his hand, and rearing it as well as 
he could upon his lance point, held it firmly against the gale, 
while the fallen flagstaff was raised again within. 

In a moment a dozen long-bows were bent at the daring foe- 
man : but Amyas behind shouted, — 

‘ Shame, lads ! Stop, and let the gallant gentleman have due 
courtesy ! ’ 

So they stopped, while Amyas, springing on the rampart of 
the battery, took off his hat, and bowed to the flag-holder, who, 
as soori as relieved of his charge, returned the bow courteously, 
and descended. 

It was by this time all but dark, and the firing began to 
slacken on all sides ; Salvation and his brother gunners, having 
covered up their slaughtering tackle with tarpaulings, retired 
for the night, leaving Amyas, who had volunteered to take the 
watch till midnight ; and the rest of the force having got their 
scanty supper of biscuit (for provisions were running very 
short), lay down under arms among the sand-hills, and grum- 
bled themselves to sleep. 

He had paced up and down in the gusty darkness for some 
hour or more, exchanging a passing word now and then with 
the sentinel, when two men entered the battery chatting busily 
together. One was in complete armor ; the other wrapt in the 
plain short cloak of a man of pens and peace : but the talk of 
both was neither of sieges nor of sallies, catapult, bombard, nor 
culverin, but simply of English hexameters. 

And fancy not, gentle reader, that the two were therein 
fiddling while Rome was burning-; for the commonweal of 
poetry and letters, in that same critical year 1580, was in far 
greater danger from those same hexameters, than the common 
woe of Ireland (as Raleigh called it) was from the Spaniards. 

■ Imitating the classic metres, ‘versifying,’ as it was called in 
contradistinction to rhyming, was becoming fast the fashion 
among the more learned. Stonyhurst and others had tried their 
hands at hexameter translations from the Latin and Greek 
epics, which seemed to have been doggerel enough ; and, ever 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


177 


and anon, some youthful wit broke out in iambics, sapphics, 
elegiacs, and what not, to the great detriment of the Queen’s 
English and her subjects’ ears. 

I know not whether Mr. William Webbe had yet given to 
the world any fragments of his precious hints for the ‘ Refor- 
mation of English poetry,’ to the tune of his own ‘ Tityrus, 
happily thou liest tumbling under a beech-tree ; ’ but the Cam- 
bridge Malvolio, Gabriel Harvey, had succeeded in arguing 
Spenser, Dyer, Sidney, and probably Sidney’s sister, and the 
whole clique of beaux-esprits round them, into following his 
model of 

* What might I call this tree ? A laurel ? 0 bonny laurel ! 

Needes to thy bowes will I bowe this knee, and vail my bonetto; * 

after snubbing the first book of ‘that Elvish Queene,’ which 
was then in manuscript, as a base declension from the cassical 
to the romantic school. 

And now Spenser (perhaps in mere melancholy wilfulness 
and want of purpose, for he had just been jilted by a fair maid 
of Kent) was wasting his mighty genius upon doggerel which 
he fancied antique ; and some piratical publisher (Bitter Tom 
Nash swears and with likelihood, that Harvey did it himself) • 
had just given to the world, — ‘ Three proper wittie and familiar 
Letters, lately passed between two University men, touching 
the Earthquake in April last, and our English reformed Versi- 
fying,’ which had set all town wits a-buzzing like a swarm of 
flies, being none other than a correspondence between Spenser 
and Harvey, which was to prove to the world for ever the cor- 
rectness and melody of such lines as, 

* For like magnificoes, not a beck but glorious in show, 

In deede most frivolous, not a looke but Tuscanish always.’ 

Let them pass — Alma Mater has seen as bad hexameters 
since. But then the matter was serious. There is a story (I 
know not how true), that Spenser was half-bullied into re-writ- 
ing the ‘ Fairy Queen ’ in hexameters, had not Raleigh, a true 
romanticist, ‘whose vein for ditty or amorous ode was most 
lofty, insolent, and passionate,’ persuaded him to follow his bet- 
ter genius. The great dramatists had not yet arisen, to form 
completely that truly English school, of which Spenser, un- 
conscious of his own vast powers, was laying the foundation. 
And, indeed, it was not till Daniel, twenty years after, in his 
admirable apology for rhyme, had smashed Mr. Campion and 
his ‘ eight several kinds of classical numbers,’ that the matter 


178 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


was finally settled, and the English tongue left -to go the road 
on which heaven had started it. So that we may excuse 
Raleigh’s answering somewhat waspish to some quotation of 
Spenser’s from the three letters of ‘ Immerito and G. H.’ 

‘ Tut, tut, Colin Clout, much learning has made thee mad. 
A good old fishwives’ ballad jingle is worth all your sapphics, 
and trimeters, and “ riff-raff thurlery bouncing.” Hey ? have I 
you there, old lad Do you mind that precious verse ? ’ 

‘ But, dear Wat, Homer and Virgil — ’ 

‘ But, dear Ned, Petrarch and Ovid — ’ 

‘ But, Wat, what have we that we do not owe to the ancients ? ’ 

‘ Ancients, quotha ? Why, Chevy-Chase, and the legend of 
King Arthur. Speak well of the bridge that carries you over, 
man ? Did you find your Redcross Knight in Virgil, or such a 
dame, as Una in old Ovid ? No more than you did your Pater 
and Credo, you renegado babtized heathen, you ! ’ 

‘ Yet, surely, our younger and more barbarous taste must 
bow before divine antiquity, and imitate afar — ’ 

‘As dottrels do fowlers. If Homer was blind, lad, why 
dost not poke out thine eye ? Ay, this hexameter is of an an- 
cient house, truly. Will Spenser, and so is many a rogue : but- 
he cannot make way on our rough English roads. He goos 
hopping and twitching in our language like a three-legged ter- 
rier over a pebble-bank, tumble and up again, rattle and crash.’ 

‘ Nay, hear, now — 

See ye the blindfolded pretty god that feathered archer. 

Of lovers’ miseries which maketh his bloody game ? * 

True, the accent gapes in places, as I have often confessed 
to Harvey, but — ’ 

‘ Harvey be hanged for a pedant, and the whole crew of 
versifiers, from Lord Dorset (but he, poor man, has been past 
hanging near a year) to yourself! Why delude you into 
playing Procrustes as he does with the Queen’s English, rack- 
ing one word till its joints be pulled asunder, and squeezing the 
next all a-heap as the Inquisitors do heretics in their banca 
cava? Out upon- him and you, and Sidney, and the whole 
kin. Y'ou have' not made a verse among you, and never will, 
which is not as lame a gosling as Harvey’s own, — 

“ Oh, thou weathercocke, that stands on the top of Allhallows, 

Come thy ways down, if thou dar’st for thy crown, and take the wall 
on us ! ” 

‘ Plark, now ! There is our young giant comforting his soul 

* Strange as it may seem, this distich is Spenser’s own ; and the other 
hexameters are all authentic. 


HIS CHRISTBIAS DAY. 


179 


with a ballad. You will hear rhyme and reason together here 
now. He will not miscall “ blindfolded,” “ blind-fold-ed,” I 
warrant; or make an “of” and a “which” and a “his” 
carry a whole verse on their wretched little backs.’ 

And as he spoke, Amyas, who had been grumbling to him- 
self some Christmas carol, broke out full-mouthed : — 

‘ As Joseph was a-walking 
He heard an angel sing — 

“ This night shall be the birthnight 
Of Christ our heavenly King. . 

His birth bed shall be neither 
Jn housen nor in hall. 

Nor in the place of paradise, 

• But in the oxen’s stall. 

He neither shall be rocked 
In silver nor in gold. 

But in the wooden manger 
That lieth on the mould. 

He neither shall be washen 
"With white wine nor with red, 

But with the fair spring water 
That on you shall be' shed. 

He neither shall be clothed 
In purple nor in pall, 

But in the fair white linen 
That usen babies all.” 

As Joseph was a-walking 
Thus did the angel sing. 

And Mary’s Son at midnight 
Was born to be our King. 

Then be you glad, good people. 

At this time of the year; 

And light you up your candles, 

For His star it shineth clear.’ 

‘ There, Edmund Classicaster,’ said Raleigh, ‘ does not that 
simple strain go nearer to the heart of him who wrote the 
Shepherd’s Calendar, than all artificial and outlandish 

“ Wote ye why his mother with a veil hath covered his face ? ” 

Why dost not answer, man.?’ 

But Spenser was silent awhile, and then, — 

‘ Because I was thinking rather of the rhymer than the 
rhyme. Good heaven ! how that brave lad shames me, sing- 


180 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


ing here the hymns which his mother taught him, before the 
very muzzles of Spanish guns ; instead of bewailing unmanly, 
as I have done, the love which he held, I doubt not, as dear as 
I did even my Rosalind. This is his welcome to the winter’s 
storm; while I, who^ dream, forsooth, of heavenly inspiration, 
can but see therein an image of mine own cowardly despair. 

Thou barren ground whom Winter’s wrath has wasted, 

Art made a mirror to behold my plight.” * 

Pah ! away with frosts, icicles, and tears, and sighs — ’ 

‘ And with hexameters and trimeters, too, 1 hope,’ inter- 
rupted Raleigh: ‘and all the trickeries of self-pleasing sorrow.’ 

‘ — I will set my heart to higher work, than barking at the 
hand which chastens me.’ 

‘ Wilt put the lad into the “ Fairy Queen,” then, by my 
side ? He deserves as good a place there, believe me, as ever 
a Guyon or even Lord Grey your Arthegall. Let us hail him. 
Hallo ! young chanticleer of Devon ! Art not afraid of a 
chance shot, that thou crowest so lustily upon thine own 
mixen ? ’ 

‘ Cocks crow all night long at Christmas, Captain Raleigh, 
and so do 1,’ said Amyas’s c! eerful voice ; ‘ but who’s there 
with you ? ’ 

‘A penitent pupil of yours — Mr. Secretary Spenser.’ 

‘ Pupil of mine ? ’ said Amyas. ‘ I wish he’d teach me a 
little of his art ; I could fill up my time here with making 
verses.’ 

‘ And who would be your theme, fair Sir? ’ said Spenser. 

‘ No “ who ” at all. 1 don’t want to make sonnets to blue 
eyes, or black either : but, if I could put down some of the 
things I saw in the Spice Islands — ’ 

‘Ah,’ said Raleigh, ‘he w^ould beat you out of Parnassus, 
Mr. Secretary. Remember, you may write about Fairy-land, 
but he has seen it.’ 

‘ And so have others,’ said Spenser ; ‘ it is not so far off from 
any one of us. Wherever is love and loyalty, great purposes 
and lofty souls, even though in a hovel or a mine, there is 
Fairy-land.’ 

‘ Then Fairy-land should be here, friend ; for you represent 
love, and Leigh loyalty ; w’hile, as for great purposes and lofty 
souls, who so fit to stand for them as I, being (unless my 
enemies and my conscience are liars both) as ambitious and as 
proud as Lucifer’s own self? ’ 


* ‘ The Shepherd’s Calendar.’ 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


181 


‘ Ah, Walter, Walter, why wilt always slander thyself thus ? ’ 

‘Slander? Tut — I do but give the world a fair challenge, 
and tell it, “ There — you know the worst of me : come on 
and try a fall, for either you or I must down.” Slander ? Ask 
Leigh here, who has but known me a fortnight, whether I am 
not as vain as a peacock, as selfish as a fox, as imperious as a 
hona roha^ and ready to make a cat’s-paw of him or any man, 
if there be a chestnut in the fire : and yet the poor fool cannot 
help loving me, and running of my errands, and taking all my 
schemes and my dreams for gospel ; and verily believes now, 
1 think, that I shall be the man in the moon some day, and he 
my big dog.’ 

‘Well,’ said Amyas, half apologetically, ‘if you are the 
cleverest man in the world, what harm in my thinking so ? ’ 

. ‘Hearken to him, Edmund ! He will know better when he 
has outgrown this same callovv trick of honesty, and learnt of 
the great goddess Detraction how to show himself wiser than the 
wise, by pointing out to the world the fool’s motley which peeps 
through the rents in the philosopher’s cloak. Go, to lad ! slan- 
der thy equals, envy thy betters, pray for an eye which sees spots 
in every sun, and f^or a vulture’s nose to scent carrion in every 
rose-bed. If thy friend win a battle, show that he has need- 
lessly thrown away his men ; if he lose one, hint that he sold 
it ; if he rise to a place, argue favor ; if he fall from one, argue 
divine justice. Believe nothing, hope nothing, but endure all 
things, even to kicking, if aught may be got thereby; so shall 
thou be clothed in purple and fine linen, and sit in kings’ palaces, 
and fare sumptuously every day.’ 

‘ And wake with Dives in the torment,’ said Amyas. . ‘ Thank 
you for nothing. Captain.’ 

‘ Go to, Misanthropos,’ said Spenser. ‘ Thou hast not yet 
tasted the sweets of this world’s comfits, and thou railest at 
them ? ’ 

‘ The grapes are sour, lad.’ 

‘ And will be to the end,’ said Amyas, ‘ if they come off such 
a devil’s tree. as that. I really think you are out of your mind, 
Captain Raleigh, at times.’ 

‘ I wish I were ; for it is a troublesome, hungry, windy mind 
as man ever was cursed withal. But come in, lad. We were 
sent from the Lord Deputy, to bid thee to supper. There is a 
dainty lump of dead horse waiting for thee,’ 

‘ Send me some out, then,’ said matter-of-fact Amyas. ‘ And 
tell his Lordship that, with his good leave, I don’t stir from here 
till morning, if I can keep awake. There is a stir in the fort, 
and I expect them out on us.’ 

16 - 


182 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


‘ Tut, man ! their hearts are broken. We know it by their 
deserters.’ 

‘ Seeing’s believing. I never trust runaway rogues. If they 
are false to their masters, they’ll be false to us.’ 

‘ Well, go thy ways, old honesty ; and Mr. Secretary shall 
give you a book to yourself in the “ Fairy Queen” — “ Sir 
Monoculus, or the Legend of Common Sense,” eh, Edmund ? ’ 

‘ Monoculus ? ’ 

‘ Ay, Single-eye, my prince of word-coiners — won’t that 
fit.? — And give him the Cyclop’s head for a device. Heigho ! 
They may laugh that win. I am sick of this Irish work ; were 
it not for the chance of advancement. I’d sooner be driving a 
team of red Devons on Dartside ; and now I am angry with the 
dear lad because he is not sick of it too. What a plague busi- 
ness has he to be paddling up and down, contentedly doing his 
duty, like any city watchman .? It is an insult to the mighty 
aspirations of our nobler hearts, — eh, my would-be Ariosto.? ’ 

‘ Ah, Raleigh ! you can afford to confess yourself less than 
some, for you are greater than all. Go on and conquer, noble 
heart ! But as for me, I sow the wind, and I suppose I shall reap 
the whirlwind.’ 

‘ Your harvest seems come already ; what a blast that was ! 
Hold on by me, Colin Clout, and I’ll hold on by thee. So ! 
Don’t tread on that pikeman’s stomach, lest he take thee for a 
marauding Don, and with sudden dagger slit Colin’s pipe, and 
Colin’s weasand, too.’ 

And the two stumbled away into the darkness, leaving Amyas 
to stride up and down as before, puzzling his brains over 
Raleigh’s wild words and Spenser’s melancholy, till he came to 
the conclusion that there was some mysterious connection be- 
tween cleverness and unhappiness, and thanking his stars that 
he was neither scholar, courtier, nor poet, said grace over his 
lump of horseflesh when it arrived, devoured it as if it had been 
venison, and then returned to his pacing up and down : but this 
time in silence, for the night was drawing on, and there was no 
need to tell the Spaniards that any one was awake and watch- 
ing. 

So he began to think about his mother, and how she might be 
spending her Christmas ; arid then about Frank, and wondered 
at what grand Court festival he was assisting, amid bright lights 
and sweet music and gay ladies, and how he was dressed, and 
whether he thought of his brother there far away on the dark 
Atlantic shore ; and then he said his prayers and his creed ; 
and then he tried not to think about Rose Salterne, and of course 
thought about her all the more. So on passed the dull hours. 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


183 


till it might be past eleven o’clock, and all lights were out in 
the battery and the shipping, and there was no sound of living 
thing but the monotonous tramp of the two sentinels beside him, 
and now and then a grunt from the party who slept under arms 
some twenty yards to the rear. 

So he paced to and fro, looking carefully out now and then 
over the strip of sand-hill which lay between him and the fort ; 
but all was blank and black, and moreover it began to rain 
furiously. 

Suddenly he seemed to hear a rustle among the harsh sand- 
grass. True, the wind was whistling through it loudly enough : 
but that sound was not altogether like the wind. Then a soft 
sliding noise ; something had slipped down a bank, and brought 
the sand down after it. Amyas stopped, crouched down beside 
a gun, and laid his ear to the rampart, whereby he heard clearly, 
as he thought, the noise of approaching feet ; whether rabbits 
or Christians, he knew not, but he shrewdly guessed the latter. 

Now Amyas was of a sober and business-like turn, at least 
when he was not in a passion ; and thinking within himself that 
if he made any noise, the enemy (whether four or two-legged) 
would retire, and all the sport be lost, he did not call to the two 
sentries, who were at the opposite ends of the battery ; neither 
did he think it worth while to rouse the sleeping company, lest 
his ears should have deceived him, and the whole camp turn out 
to repulse the attack of a buck-rabbit. So he crouched lower 
and lower beside the culverin, and was rewarded in a minute or 
two by hearing something gently deposited against the mouth 
of the embrasure, which, by the noise, should be a piece of 
timber. 

‘ So far, so good ; ’ said he to himself : ‘ when the scaling 
ladder .is up, the soldier follows, I suppose. I can only humbly 
thank them for giving my embrasure the preference. There he 
comes ! I hear his feet scuffling.’ 

He could hear plainly enough some one working himself into 
the mouth of the embrasure : but the plague was, that it was so 
dark that he could not see his hand between him and the sky, 
much less his foe at two yards off. However, he made a pretty 
fair guess as to the whereabouts, and, rising softly, discharged 
such a blow downwards as would split a yule log. A volley of 
sparks flew up from the hapless Spaniard’s armor, and a grunt 
issued from within it, which proved that, whether he was killed 
or not, the blow had not improved his respiration. 

Amyas felt for his head, seized it, dragged him in over the 
gun, sprang into the embrasure on his knees, felt for the top of 
the ladder, found it, hove it clean off and out, with four or five 


184 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


men on it, and then of course tumbled after it ten feet into the 
sand, roaring like a town bull to her Majesty’s liege subjects in 
general. 

Sailor-fashion, he had no armor on but a light morion and a 
cuirass, so he was not too much encumbered to prevent his 
springing to his legs instantly, and setting to work, cutting and 
foining right and left at every sound, for sight there was none. 

Battles (as soldiers know, and newspaper editors do not) are 
usually fought, not as they ought to be fought, but as they can 
be fought ; and while the literary man is laying down the law 
at his desk as to how many troops should be moved here, and 
what rivers should be crossed there, and where the cavalry 
should have been brought up, and when the flank should have 
been turned, the wretched man who has to do the work finds 
the matter settled for him by pestilence, want of shoes, empty 
stomachs, bad roads, heavy rains, hot suns, and a thousand other 
stern warriors who never show on paper. 

So with this skirmish ; ‘ according to Cocker,’ it ought to 
have been a very pretty one ; for Hercules of Pisa, who planned 
the sortie, had arranged it all (being a very sans-appel in all 
military science) upon the best Italian precedents, and had 
brought against this very hapless battery, a column of a hun- 
dred to attack directly in front, a company of fifty to turn the 
right flank, and a company of fifty to turn the left flank, with 
regulations, orders, pass-words, countersigns, and what not ; so 
that if every man had had his rights (as seldom happens), Don 
Guzman Maria Magdalena de Soto, who commanded the sortie, 
ought to have taken the work out of hand, and annihilated all 
therein. But alas ! here stern fate interfered. They had chosen 
•Q. dark night, as was politic ; they had waited till the moon was 
up, lest it should be too dark, as was politic likewise : but, just 
as they had started, on came a heavy squall of rain, through 
which seven moons would have given no light, and which 
washed out the plans of Hercules of Pisa as if they had been 
written on a school-boy’s slate. The company who were to turn 
the left flank walked manfully down into the sea, and never 
found out where they were going, till they were knee-deep in 
water. The company who were to turn the right flank, bewil- 
dered by the utter darkness, turned their own flank so often, 
that tired of falling into rabbit-burrows and filling their mouths 
with sand, they halted and prayed to all the saints for a com- 
pass and lantern ; while the centre body, who held straight on 
by a trackway to within fifty yards of the battery, so miscalcu- 
lated that short distance, that while they thought the ditch two 
pikes’ length off, they fell into it one over the other, and of six 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


185 


scaling ladders, the only one which could be found was the very 
one which Amyas threw down again. After which the clouds 
broke, the wind shifted, and the moon shone out mgrrily. And 
so was the deep policy of Hercules of Pisa, on which hung the 
fate of Ireland and the Papacy, decided by a ten , minutes’ 
squall. 

But where is Amyas ? 

In the ditch, aware that the enemy is tumbling into it, but 
unable to find them ; while the company above, finding it much 
too dark to attempt a counter sortie, have opened a smart fire 
of musketry and arrows ^on things in general, whereat the Span- 
iards are swearing like Spaniards (I need say no more), and the 
Italians spitting like venomous cats ; while Amyas, not wishing 
to be riddled by friendly balls, has got his back against the foot 
of the rampart, and waits on Providence. 

Suddenly the moon clears ; and with one more fierce volley, 
the English sailors, seeing the confusion, leap down from the 
embrasures, and to it pell-mell. Whether this also was ‘ accord- 
ing to Cocker,’ I know not: but the sailor, then as now, is not 
susceptible of highly-finished drill. 

Amyas is now in his element, and so are the brave fellows at 
his heels ; and there are ten breathless, furious minutes among 
the sand-hills; and then the trumpets blow a recall, and the 
sailors drop back again by twos and threes, and are helped up 
into the embrasures over many a dead and dying foe ; while the 
guns of Fort del Oro open on them, and blaze away for half an 
hour without reply ; and then all is still once more. And in 
the meanwhile the sortie against the Deputy’s camp has fared 
no better, and the victory of the night remains with the English. 

Twenty minutes after. Winter and the captains who were on 
shore, were drying themselves round a peat-fire on the beach, 
and talking over the skirmish, when Will Cary asked, — 

‘ Where is Leigh > who has seen him ? I am sadly afraid he 
has gone too far, and been slain.’ 

‘ Slain Never less, gentlemen ! ’ replied the voice of the 
very person in question, as he stalked out of the darkness into 
the glare of the fire, and shot down from his shoulders into the 
midst of the ring, as he might a sack of corn, a huge dark 
body, which was gradually seen to be a man in rich armor ; 
who, being so shot down, lay quietly where he was dropped, 
with his feet (luckily for him mailed) in the fire. 

‘ I say,’ quoth Arnyas, ‘some of you had better take him up, 
if he is to be of any use. Unlace his helm. Will Cary.’ 

‘ Pull his feet out of the embers ; 1 dare say he would have 
IG* 


186 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


been glad enough to put us to the scarpines ; but that’s no rea- 
son we should put him to them.’ 

As has been hinted, there was no love lost between Admiral 
Winter and Amyas ; and Amyas might certainly have reported 
himself in a more ceremonious manner. So Winter, whom 
Amyas either had not seen, or had not chosen to see, asked him 
pretty sharply, ‘ What the plague he had to do with bringing 
dead men into camp ? ’ 

‘ If he’s dead, it’s not my fault; He was alive enough when 
I started with him, and I kept him right end uppermost all the 
way ; and what would you have more. Sir ’ 

‘ Mr. Leigh ! ’ said Winter, ‘ it behoves you to speak with 
somewhat more courtesy, if not respect, to captains who are 
your elders and commanders.’ 

‘ Ask your pardon. Sir,’ said the giant, as he stood in front of 
the fire with the rain steaming and smoking off his armor ; ‘ but 
I was bred in a school where getting good service done was 
more esteemed than making fine speeches.’ 

‘ Whatsoever school you were trained in. Sir,’ said Winter, 
nettled at the hint about Drake, ‘ it does not seem to have been 
one in which you learned to obey orders. Why did you not 
come in when the recall was sounded ? ’ 

‘ Because,’ said Amyas, very coolly, ‘ in the first place, I did 
not hear it ; and in the next, in my school I was taught when I 
had once started not to come home empty-handed.’ 

This was too pointed ; and Winter sprang up, with an oath 
— ‘ Do you mean to insult me. Sir ? ’ 

‘ I am sorry Sir, that you should take a compliment to Sir 
Francis Drake as an insult to yourself. 1 brought in this gen- 
tleman because 1 thought he might give you good information ; 
if he dies, meanwhile, the loss will be yours, or rather the 
Queen’s.’ 

‘ Help me, then,’ said Cary, glad to create a diversion in 
Amyas’s favor, ‘ and we will bring him round ; while Raleigh 
rose, and catching Winter’s arm, drew him aside, and began 
talking earnestly. 

‘ What a murrain have you, Leigh, to quarrel with Winter ; ’ 
asked two or three. 

‘ I sa.y, my reverend fathers and dear children, do get the 
Don’s talking tackle free again, and leave me and the Admiral 
to settle it our own way.’ 

There was more than one captain sitting in the ring: but 
discipline, and the degrees of rank, were not so severely de- 
fined as now ; and Amyas, as a ‘ gentleman adventurer,’ was, 
on land, in a position very difficult to be settled, though at sea 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


187 


he was as liable to be hanged as any other person on board ; 
and, on the whole, it was found expedient to patch the matter 
up. So Captain Raleigh returning, said, that though Admiral 
Winter had doubtless taken umbrage at certain words of Mr. 
Leigh’s, yet that he had no doubt that Mr. Leigh meant nothing 
thereby, but what was consistent with the profession of a sol- 
dier and a gentleman, and worthy both of himself and of the 
Admiral. 

From which proposition Amyas found it impossible to dis- 
sent ; whereon Raleigh went back, and informed Winter that 
Leigh had freely retracted his words, and fully wiped off any 
imputation which Mr. Winter might conceive to have been put 
upon him, and so forth. So Winter returned, and Amyas said 
frankly enough, — 

‘Admiral Winter, 1 hope, as a loyal soldier, that you will 
understand thus far ; that nought which has passed to-night 
shall in any way prevent you finding me a forward and obedi- 
ent servant to all your commands,. be they what they may, and 
a supporter of your authority among the men, and honor 
against the foe, even with my life. For 1 should be ashamed, 
if private differences should ever prejudice by a grain the public 
weal.’ 

This was a great effort of oratory for Amyas ; and he, there- 
fore, in order to be safe by following precedent, tried to talk as 
much as he could like Sir Richard Grenvile. Of course Win- 
ter could answer nothing to it, in spite of the plain hint of 
private differences, but that he should not fail to show himself 
a captain worthy of so valiant and trusty a gentleman; whereon 
the whole party turned their attention to the captive, who, thanks 
to Will Cary, was by this time sitting up, standing much in need 
of a handkerchief, and looking about him, having been un- 
helmed, in a confused and doleful manner. 

Take the gentleman to my tent,’ said Winter, ‘ and let the 
surgeon see to him. Mr. Leigh, who is he ? — ’ 

‘ An enemy, but whether Spaniard or Italian, I know not ; 
but he seemed somebody among them ; I thought the captain 
of a company. He and I cut at each other twice or thrice at 
first, and then lost each other ; and after that I came on him 
among the sand-hills, trying to rally his men, and swearing like 
the mouth of the pit, whereby I guess him a Spaniard. But 
his men ran ; so I brought him in.’ 

‘ And how ? ’ asked Raleigh. ‘ Thou art giving us all the 
play but the murders and marriages.’ 

‘ Why, I bid him yield, and he would not. Then I bid him 
run, and he would not. And it was too pitch-dark for fighting ; 


188 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


SO I took him by the ears, and shook the wind out of him, and 
so brought him in.’ 

‘ Shook the wind out of him ? ’ cried Cary, amid the roar of 
laughter which followed. ‘ Dost know thou hast nearly wrung 
his neck in two? His vizor was full of blood.’ 

‘ He should have run or yielded, then,’ said Amyas ; and 
getting up, slipt off to find some ale, and then to sleep com- 
fortably in a dry burrow which he scratched out of a sand- 
bank. 

The next morning, as Amyas was discussing a scanty break- 
fast of biscuit (for provisions were running very short in camp), 
Raleigh came up to him. 

‘ What, eating? That’s more than I have done to-day.’ 

‘ Sit down, and share, then.’ 

‘ Nay, lad, I did not come a-begging. I have set some of 
my rogues to dig rabbits ; but as 1 live, young Colbrand, you 
may thank your stars that you are alive to-day to eat. Poor 
young Cheek, — Sir John* Cheek the grammarian’s son, — 
got his quittance last night by a Spanish pike, rushing headlong 
on, just as you did. But have you seen your prisoner ? 

‘ No ; nor shall, while he is in Winter’s tent.’ 

‘ Why not, then ? What quarrel have you against the Admi- 
ral, friend Bobadil ? Cannot you let Francis Drake fight his 
own battles, without thrusting your head in between them ? ’ 

‘ Well, that is good ! As if the quarrel was not just as much 
mine, and every man’s in the ship. Why, when he left Drake, 
he left us all, did he not ? ’ 

‘ And what if he did ? Let bygones be bygones, is the rule 
of a Christian, and of a wise man, too, Amyas. Here the 
man is, at least, safe home, in favor, and in power ; and a pru- 
dent youth will just hold his tongue, mum-chance, and swim 
with the stream.’ 

‘ But that’s just what makes me mad ; to see this fellow, 
after deserting us there in unknown seas, win credit and rank 
at home here for being the first man who ever sailed back 
through the Straits. What had he to do with sailing back at 
all ? As well make the fox a knight for being the first that 
ever jumped down a jakes to escape the hounds. The fiercer 
the fight, the fouler the fear, say I. ’ 

‘ Amyas ! Amyas ! thou art a hard hitter, but a soft politi- 
cian.’ 

‘ I am no politician, Captain Raleigh, nor ever wish to be. 
An honest man’s my friend, and a rogue’s my foe ; and I’ll tell 
both as much, as long as I breathe.’ 

‘ And die a poor saint,’ said Raleigh, laughing. ‘ But if 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


189 


W inter Invites you to his tent, himself, you won’t refuse to 
come ? ’ 

‘ Why, no, considering his years and rank ; but he knows too . 
well to do that.’ 

‘ He knows too well hot to do it,’ said Raleigh, laughing as 
he walked away. And verily in half-an-hour came an invita- 
tion, extracted of course, from the Admiral by Raleigh’s silver 
tongue, which Amyas could not but obey. 

‘ We all owe you thanks for last night’s service. Sir,’ said 
Winter, who had, for some good reasons, changed his tone. 
‘Your prisoner is found to be a gentleman of birth and expe- 
rience, and the leader of the assault last night. -He has already 
told us more than we had hoped, for which, also, we are be- 
holden to you ; and, indeed, my Lord Grey has been asking 
for you already.’ 

‘ I have, young Sir,’ said a quiet and lofty voice ; and Amyas 
saw limping from the inner tent the proud and stately figure of 
the stern Deputy, Lord Grey, of Wilton, a brave and wise man, 
but with a naturally harsh temper, which had been soured still 
more by the wound which had crippled him, while yet a boy, 
at the battle of Leith. He owed that limp to Mary Queen of 
Scots ; and he did not forget the debt. 

‘ I have been asking for you ; having heard from many, both 
of your last night’s prowess, and of your conduct and courage 
beyond the promise of your years, displayed in that ever- 
memorable voyage, which may well be ranked with the deeds 
of the ancient Argonauts.’ 

Amyas bowed low ; and the Lord Deputy went on : ‘ You 
will needs wish to see your prisoner. You will find him such 
a one as you need not be ashamed^to have taken, and as need 
not be ashamed to have been taken by you : but here he is, 
and will, I doubt not, answer as much for himself. Know each 
other better, gentlemen both : last night was an ill one for 
making acquaintances. Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Soto- 
mayor de Soto, know the hidalgo Amyas Leigh ! ’ 

As he spoke, the Spaniard came forward, still in his armor, 
all save his head, which was bound up m a handkerchief. 

He was an exceedingly tall and graceful personage, of that 
sangue azur which marked high Visigothic descent : golden- 
haired and fair-skinned, with hands as small and white as a 
woman’s ; his lips were delicate, but thin, and compressed 
closely at the corners of the mouth ; and his pale blue eye had 
a glassy dulness. In spite of his beauty and his carriage, 
Amyas shrank from him instinctively ; and yet he could not 


190 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


help holding out his hand in return, as the Spaniard, holding 
out his, said, languidly, in most sweet and sonorous Spanish, — 

‘ I kiss his hands and feet. The Senor speaks, 1 am told, 
my native tongue ? ’ 

‘ I have that honor.’ 

‘ Then accept in it (for I can better express myself therein 
than in English, though I am not altogether ignorant of that 
witty and learned language) the expression of my pleasure at 
having fallen into the hands of one so renowned in war and 
travel ; and of one also,’ he added, glancing at Amyas’s giant 
bulk, ‘ the vastness of whose strength, beyond that of common 
mortality, makes it no more shame for me to have been over- 
powered and carried away by him, than if rny captor had been 
a paladin of Charlemagne’s.’ 

[lonest Amyas 'bowed and stammered, a little thrown off his 
balance by the unexpected assurance and cool flattery of his 
prisoner ; but he said, — 

‘ If you are satisfied, illustrious Senor, I am bound to be so. 
I only trust, that in my hurry and the darkness, 1 have not hurt 
you unnecessarily.’ 

The Don laughed a pretty little hollow laugh : ‘ No, kind 
Senor, my head, I trust, will after a few days have become 
united to my shoulders ; and, for the present, your company 
will make me forget any slight discomfort.’ 

‘ Pardon me, Senor ; but by this daylight I should have seen 
that armor before.’ 

‘ I doubt it not, Senor, as having been yourself, also, in the 
forefront of the battle,’ said the Spaniard, with a proud smile. 

‘ If I am right, Senor, you are he who yesterday held up the 
standard after it was shot down.’ 

‘ I do not deny that undeserved honor ; and I have to thank 
the courtesy of you and your countrymen for having permitted 
me to do so with impunity.’ 

‘Ah, I heard of that brave feat,’ said the Lord Deputy. 
‘You should consider, yourself, Mr. Leigh, honored by being 
enabled to show courtesy to such a warrior.’ 

How long this interchange of solemn compliments of which 
Amyas was getting somewhat weary, would have gone on, I 
know not : but at that moment Raleigh entered, hastily, 

‘ My Lord, they have hung out a white flag, and are calling 
for a parley ! ’ 

The Spaniard turned pale, and felt for his sword, which was 
gone ; and then, with a bitter laugh, murmured to himself,— 
‘ As I expected.’ 


Ills CHRISTMAS DAY. 


191 


‘ I am very sorry to hear it. Would to Heaven thev had 
simply fought it out ! ’ said Lord Grey, half to himself; and 
then, ‘ Go, Captain Raleigh, and answer them that (saving this 
gentleman’s presence) the law of war forbid a parley with 
any who are leagued with rebels against their lawful sovereign.’ 

‘ But what if they wish to treat for this gentleman’s ran- 
som ? ’ 

‘For their own, more likely,’ said the Spaniard; ‘but tell 
them, on my part, Senor, that Don Guzman refuses to be ran- 
somed ; and will return to no camp where the commanding 
officer, unable to infect his captains with his own cowardice, 
dishonors them against their will.’ 

‘You speak sharply, Senor, ’.said Winter, after Raleigh had 
gone out. 

‘ 1 have reason, Seiaor Admiral, as you will find, I fear, ere 
long.’ 

‘ VVe shall have the honor of leaving you here, for the pres- 
ent, Sir, as Admiral Winter’s guest,’ said the Lord Deputy. 

‘ But not my sword, it seems.’ 

‘ Pardon me, Senor: but no one has deprived you of your 
sword,’ said Winter. 

‘ I don’t wish to pain you. Sir,’ said Amyas, ‘ but I fear that 
we were both careless enough to leave it behind last night.’ 

A flash passed over the Spaniard’s face, which disclosed ter-, 
rible depths of fury and hatred beneath that quiet mask, as the 
summer lightning displays the black abysses of the thunder- 
storm ; but like the summer lightning it passed, almost unseen ; 
and blandly as ever he answered, — 

‘ I can forgive you for such a neglect, most valiant Sir, more 
easily than 1 can forgive myself. Farewell, Sir! One who 
has lost his sword is no fit company for you.’ And as Amyas 
and the rest departed, he plunged into the inner tent, stamping 
and writhing, gnawing his hands with rage and shame. 

As Amyas came out on the battery, Yeo hailed him, — 

‘Master Amyas! Hillo, Sir! For the love of heaven tell 
me!’ 

What, then ? ’ 

‘ Is his Lordship stanch ? Will he do the Lord’s work faith- 
fully, root and branch ; or will he spare the Amalekites ? ’ 

‘ The latter, 1 think, old hip-and-thigh,’ said Amyas, hurrying 
forward to hear the news from Raleigh, who appeared in sight 
once more. 

‘ They ask to depart with bag and baggage,’ said he, when 
he came up. 


192 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


‘ God do SO to me, and more also, if they carry away a 
straw ! ’ said Lord Grey. ‘ Make short work of it. Sir ! ’ 

‘ I do not know how that will be, my Lord ; as I came up, a 
captain shouted to me off the walls, that there were mutineers, 
and denying that he surrendered, would have pulled down the 
flag of truce, but the soldiers beat him off*.’ 

‘ A house divided against itself will not stand long, gentle- 
men. Tell them that I give no conditions. Let them lay down 
their arms, and trust in the Bishop of Rome, who sent them 
hither, and may come to save them if he wants them. Gun- 
ners, if you see the white flag go down, open your fire instantly. 
Captain Raleigh, we need your counsel here. Mr. Cary, will 
you be my herald this time .? ’ 

‘ A better Protestant never went on a pleasanter errand, my 
Lord.’ 

So Cary went, and then ensued an argument, as to what 
should be done with the prisoners in case of a surrender. 

I cannot tell whether my Lord Grey meant, by offering con- 
ditions which the Spaniards would not accept, to force them 
into fighting the quarrel out, and so save himself the responsi- 
bility of deciding on their fate ; or whether his mere natural 
stubborness, as well as his just indignation, drove him on too 
far to retract : but the council of war which followed was both 
a sad and a stormy one, and one which he had reason to regret 
to his dying day. What was to be done with the enemy ? 
They already outnumbered the English ; and some fifteen hun- 
dred of the Desmond’s wild Irish hovered in the forests round, 
ready to side with the winning party, or even to attack the 
English at the least sign of vacillation or fear. They could 
not carry the Spaniards away with them, for they had neither 
shipping nor food, not even handcuffs enough for them ; and as 
Mackvvorth told Winter when he proposed it, the only plan was 
for him to make San Josepho a present of his ships, and swim 
home himself as he could. To turn loose in Ireland, as Cap- 
tain Touch urged, on the other hand, seven hundred such mon- 
sters of lawlessness, cruelty, and lust, as Spanish and Italian 
condottieri were in those days, was as fatal to their own safety, 
as cruel to the wretched Irish. All the captains, without ex- 
ception, followed on the same side. ‘ What was to be done, 
then ? ’ asked Lord Grey, impatiently. ‘ Would they have him 
murder them all in cold blood ? ’ 

And for a while every man, knowing that it must come to 
that, and yet not daring to say it; till Sir Warham St. Leger, 
the Marshal of Munster, spoke out stoutly, — ‘Foreigners had 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


193 


been scoffing them too long and too truly with waging these 
Irish wars, as if they meant to keep them alive, rather than 
end them. Mercy and faith to every Irishman who would show 
mercy and faith, was his motto ; but to invaders, no mercy. 
Ireland was England’s vulnerable point, it might be some day 
her ruin ; a terrible example must be made of those who dared 
to touch the sore. Rather pardon the Spaniards for landing in 
the Thames, than in Ireland!’ — till Lord Grey became much 
excited, and turning as a last hope to Raleigh, asked his opin- 
ion : but Raleigh’s silver tongue was that day not on the side 
of indulgence. He skilfully recapitulated the arguments of his 
fellow-captains, improving them as he went on, till each worthy 
soldier was surprised to find .himself so much wiser a man 
than he had thought ; and finished by one of his rapid and pas- 
sionate perorations upon his favorite theme — the West Indian 
cruelties of the Spaniards, ‘ .... by which great tracts and 
fair countries are now utterly stripped of inhabitants by heavy 
bondage and torments unspeakable. Oh, witless Islanders ! ’ 
said he, apostrophizing the Irish ; ‘ would to heaven that you 
were here to listen to me ! What other fate awaits you, if this 
viper, which you are so ready to take into your bosom, should 
be warmed to life, but to groan like the Indians, slaves to the 
Spaniard ; but to perish like the Indians, by heavy burdens, 
cruel chains, plunder and ravishment; scourged, racked, roasted, 
stabbed, sawn in sunder, cast to feed the dogs, as simple and 
more righteous peoples have perished ere now by millions ? 
And what else 1 say, had been the fate of Ireland, had this 
invasion prospered, which God has now, by our weak hands, 
confounded and brought to nought? Shall we then answer it, 
my Lord, either to our conscience, our God, or our Queen, if 
we shall set loose men (not one of whom, I warrant, but is 
stained with murder on murder), to go and fill up the cup of 
their iniquity among these silly sheep ? Have not their native 
wolves, their barbarous chieftains, shorn, peeled, and slaugh- 
tered them enough already, but we must add this pack of foreign 
wolves to the number of their tormentors, and fit the Desmond 
with a body-guard of seven, yea, seven hundred devils worse 
than himself? Nay, rather let us do violence to our own 
human nature, and show ourselves in appearance rigorous, that 
we may be kind indeed ; lest while we presume to be over- 
merciful to the guilty, we prove ourselves to be over-cruel to 
the innocent.’ 

‘Captain Raleigh, Captain Raleigh,’ said Lord Grey, ‘the 
blood of these men be on your head ! ’ 

17 


194 


HOW AMTAS KEPT 


‘ It ill befits your Lordship,’ answered Raleigh, ‘ to throw 
on your subordinates the blame of that which your reason 
approves as necessary.’ 

‘ I should have thought. Sir, that one so noted for ambition 
as Captain Raleigh, would have been more careful of the favor 
of that Queen for whose smiles he is said to be so longing a 
competitor. If you have not yet been of her counsels. Sir, I 
can tell you you are not likely to be." She will be furious 
when she hears of this cruelty.’ 

Lord Grey had lost his temper ; but Raleigh kept his, and 
answered quietly, — 

‘ Her Majesty shall at least not find me among the number 
of those who prefer her favor to her safety, and abuse to their 
own profit that over-tenderness and mercifulness of heart, which 
is the only blemish (and yet, rather like a mole on a fair cheek, 
but a new beauty) in her manifold perfections.’ 

At this juncture, Cary returned. ’ 

‘ My Lord,’ said he, in some confusion, ‘ I have proposed 
your terms ; ‘ but the captains still entreat for some mitigation ; 
and, to tell you truth, one of them has insisted on accompany- 
ing me hither to plead his cause himself.’ 

‘ I will not see him. Sir. Who is he .? ’ 

‘ His name is Sebastian of Modena, my Lord.’ 

Sebastian of Modena.? What think you, gentlemen .? May 
we make an exception in favor of. so famous a soldier.? ’ 

‘ So villanous a cut-throat,’ said Zouch to Raleigh, under his 
breath. 

All, however, were for speaking with so fanious a man ; and 
in came, in full armor, a short, bull-necked Italian, evidently of 
immense strength, of the true Ctesar Borgia stamp. 

‘ Will you please to be seated. Sir.?’ said Lord Grey, coldly. 

‘I kiss your hands, most illustrious; but I do not sit in an 
enemy’s camp. Ha, my friend Zouch ! How has your Sig- 
noria fared since we fought side by side at Lepanto .? So you, 
too, are here, sitting in council on the hanging of me .? ’ 

‘ What is your errand. Sir.? Time is short,’ said the Lord 
Deputy. 

‘ Corpo di Bacco! It has been long enough all the morning, 
for my rascals have kept me and my friend the Colonel Her- 
cules (whom you know, doubtless,) prisoners in our tents at the 
pike’s point. My Lord Deputy, I have but a few words. I 
shall thank you to take every soldier in the fort, — Italian, 
Spaniard, and Irish, — and hang them up as high as Haman 
for a set of mutinous cowards, with the arch-traitor San Jo- 
sepho at their head.’ 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


195 


‘ I am obliged to you for your offer, Sir, and shall deliberate 
presently as to whether I shall not accept it.’ ' 

‘ But as for us captains, really your excellency must consider 
that we are gentlemen born, and give us either huena guerra^ 
as the Spaniards say, or a fair chance for life ; and so to my 
business. We are ready to meet any gentlemen of your camp, 
man to man, with our swords only, half-way between your 
leaguer and ours ; and I doubt not that your Lordship will see 
fair play. Will any gentleman accept so civil an offer ? There 
siis a tall youth in that corner who would suit me very well. 
Will any fit my gallant comrades with half-an-hour’s punto and 
stoccado ? ’ 

There was a silence, all looking at the Lord Deputy, whose 
eyes were kindling in a very ugly way. 

‘ No answer .? Then I must proceed to exhortation. So ! 
Will that be sufficient ? ’ 

And walking composedly across the tent, the fearless ruffian 
quietly stooped down, and smote Amyas Leigh full in the 
face. 

Up sprang Amyas, heedless of all the august assembly, and 
with a single buffet felled him to the earth. 

‘ Excellent ! ’ said he, rising unabashed. ‘ I can always trust 
my instinct. I knew the moment I saw him that he was a 
cavalier worth letting blood. Now, Sir, your sword and har- 
ness, and I am at your service outside ! ’ 

The solemn and sententious Englishmen were altogether 
taken aback by the Italian’s impudence : but Zouch settled the 
matter. 

‘ Most noble Captain, will you be pleased to recollect a cer- 
tain little occurrence at Messina, in the year 1575 ? For if you 
do not, I do ; and beg to inform this gentleman that you are 
unworthy of his sword, and, had you, unluckily for you, been 
an Englishman, would have found the fashions of our country 
so different from your own that you would have been then 
hanged. Sir, and probably may be so still.’ 

The Italian’s sword flashed out in a moment : but Lord Grey 
interfered. 

‘No fighting here, gentlemen. That may wait; and, what 
is more, shall wait till — Strike their swords down, Raleigh, 
Mack worth ! Strike their swords down ! Colonel Sebastian, 
you will be pleased to return as you came, in safety, having 
lost nothing, as (I frankly tell you) you have gained nothing by 
your wild bearing here. We shall proceed to deliberate, on 
your fate.’ 

‘ I trust, my Lord,’ said Amyas, ‘ that you will spare this 


196 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


braggart’s life, at least for a day or two. For In spite of Cap- 
tain Zouch’s warning, 1 must have to do with him yet, or my 
cheek will rise up in judgment against me at the last day.’ 

‘ Well spoken, lad,’ said the Colonel as he swung out. ‘ So ! 
worth a reprieve, by this sword, to have one more good rapier- 
rattle before the gallows ! Then I take back no further answer, 
my Lord Deputy ? Not even our swords, our virgin blades. 
Signor, the soldier’s cherished bride ? Shall we go forth weep- 
ing widowers, and leave to strange embrace the lovely steel ! ’ 

‘None, Sir, by heaven!’ said he, waxing wroth. ‘Do you 
come hither to dictate terms upon a foreign soil ? Is it not 
enough to have set up here the Spanish flag, and claimed the 
land of Ireland as the Pope’s gift to the Spaniard ; violated the 
laws of nations, and the solemn treaties of. princes, under color 
of a mad superstition ? ’ 

‘ Superstition, my Lord ? Nothing less. Believe a philoso- 
pher who has not said a pater or an ave for seven years past at 
least. Quod tango credo, is my motto ; and though I am bound 
to say, under pain of the Inquisition, that the most holy Father 
the Pope has given this land of Ireland to his most Catholic 
Majesty the King of Spain, Queen Elizabeth having forfeited 
her title to it by heresy, — why, my Lord, I believe it as little 
as you do. I believe that Ireland would have been mine, if I 
had won it ; I believe religiously that it is not mine, now I have 
lost it. What is, is, and a fig for priests ; to-day to thee, to- 
morrow to me. Addio,’ — and out he swung. 

‘ There goes a most gallant rascal,’ said the Lord Deputy. 

‘And a most rascally gallant,’ said Zouch. ‘The murder of 
his own page, of which 1 gave him a remembrancer, is among 
the least of his sins.’ 

‘ And now. Captain Raleigh,’ said Lord Grey, ‘ as you have 
been so earnest in preaching this butchery, 1 have a right to 
ask none but you to practise it.’ 

Raleigh bit his lip, and replied by the ‘quip courteous,’ — 

‘ I am at least a man, my Lord, who thinks it shame to allow 
others to do that which I dare not do myself.’ 

Lord Grey might probably have returned ‘ the countercheck 
quarrelsome,’ had not Mackworth risen, — 

‘ And I, my Lord, being, in that matter at least, one of Cap- 
tain Raleigh’s kidney, will just go with him, and see that he 
takes no harm by being bold enough to carry out an ugly busi- 
ness.’ 

‘I bid^you good morning, then, gentlemen, though I cannot 
bid you God speed,’ said Lord Grey ; and sitting down again. 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


197 


covered his face with his hands, and, to the astonishment of all 
bystanders, burst, say the chroniclers, into tears. 

Amyas followed Kaleigh out. The latter was pale, but de- 
termined, and very wroth against the Deputy. 

‘ Does the man take me for a hangman ? ’ said he, ‘ that he 
speaks to me thus ? But such is the way of the great. If you 
neglect your duty, they haul you over the coals; if you do it, 
you must do it on your own responsibility. Farewell, Amyas ; 
you will not shrink from me as a butcher when I return ? ’ 

‘ God forbid ! But how will you do it ? ’ 

‘ March one company in, and drive them forth, and let the 
other cut them down as they come out. — Pah ! ’ 

It was done. Right or wrong, it was done. The shrieks and 
curses had died away, and the Fort del Oro was a red sham- 
bles, which the soldiers were trying to cover from the sight of 
heaven and earth, by dragging the bodies into the ditch, and 
covering them with the ruins of the rampart; while the Irish, 
who had beheld from the woods that awful warning, fled trem- 
bling into the deepest recesses of the forest. It was done ; and 
it never needed to be done again. The hint was severe, but it 
was sufficient. Many years passed before a Spaniard set foot 
again in Ireland. 

The Spanish and Italian officers were spared, and Amyas 
had Don Guzman Maria Magdelena Sotomayor de Soto duly 
adjudged to him, as his prize by right of war. He was, of 
course, ready enough to fight Sebastian of Modena ; but Lord 
Grey forbad the duel : .blood enough had been shed already. 
The next question was, where to bestow Don Guzman till his 
ransom should arrive : and as Amyas could not well deliver 
the gallant Don into the safe custody of Mrs. Leigh at Burrough, 
and still less into that of Frank at Court, he was fain to write to 
Sir Richard Grenvile, and ask his advice, and in the meanwhile 
keep the Spaniard with him upon parole, which he frankly 
gave, — saying that as for running away, he had nowhere to 
run to ; and as for joining the Irish, he had no mind to turn pig ; 
and Amyas found him, as shall be hereafter told, pleasant com- 
pany enough. But one morning Raleigh entered, — 

‘ I have done you a good turn, Leigh, if you think it one. I 
have talked St. Leger into making you my lieutenant, and 
giving you the custody of a right pleasant hermitage — some 
castle Shackatory or other in the midst of a big bog, where 
time will run swift and smooth with you, between hunting vild 
Irish, snaring snipes, and drinking yourself drunk with usque- 
baugh over a turf fire.’ 

17 * 


198 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


‘I’ll go,’ quoth Amyas; ‘anything for work.’ So he went 
and took possession of his lieutenancy and his black robber 
tower, and there passed the rest of the winter, fighting or hunt- 
ing all day, and chatting and reading all the evening with Senor 
Don Guzman, who, like a good soldier of fortune, made himself 
thoroughly at home, and a general favorite with the soldiers. 

At first, indeed, his Spanish pride and stateliness, and 
Amyas’s English taciturnity, kept the two apart somewhat ; but 
they soon began, if not to trust, at least to like each other ; and 
Don Guzman told Amyas, bit by bit, who he was, of what an 
ancient house, and of what a poor one; and laughed over the 
very small chance of his ransom being raised, and the certainty 
that, at least, it could not come for a couple of years, seeing 
that the only De Soto who had a penny to spare was a fat old 
dean at St. Yago de Leon, in the Caraccas, at which place Don 
Guzman had been born. This of course led to much talk about 
the West Indies, and the Don was as much interested to find 
that Amyas had been one of Drake’s world-famous crew, as 
Amyas was to find that his captive was the grandson of none 
other than that most terrible of man-hunters, Don Ferdinando 
de Soto, the conqueror of Florida, of whom Amyas had read 
many a time in Las Casas, ‘as the captain of tyrants, the noto- 
riousest and most experimented amongst them that have done 
the most hurts, mischiefs, and destructions in many realms.’ 
And often enough his blood boiled, and he had much ado to 
recollect that the speaker was his guest, as Don Guzman chatted 
away about his grandfather’s hunts of innocent women and 
children, murders of caciques, and burnings alive of guides, 
'‘pour encourager les autres,' without, seemingly, the least feel- 
ing that the victims were human beings or subjects for human 
pity ; anything, in short, but heathen dogs, enemies of God, 
servants of the devil, to be used by the Christian when he 
needed, and when not needed killed down as cumberers of the 
ground. ‘But Don Guzman was a most finished gentleman 
nevertheless: and told many a good story of the Indies, and 
told it well ; and over and above his stories, he had among his 
baggage two books, — the one Antonio Galvano’s ‘Discoveries 
of the World,’ a mine of winter evening amusement to Amyas ; 
and the other, a manuscript book, which, perhaps, it had been 
well for Amyas had he never seen. For it was none other than 
a sort of rough journal which Don Guzman had kept as a lad, 
when he went down with the Adelantado Gonzales Ximenes de 
Casada, from Peru to the River of Amazons, to look for the 
golden country of El Dorado, and the city of Manoa, which 
stands in the midst of the White Lake, and equals or surpasses 


HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 


199 


in glory even the palace of the Inca Huaynacapac ; * all the 
vessels of whose house and kitchen are of gold and silver, and 
in his wardrobe statues of gold which seemed giants, and 
figures in proportion and bigness of all the beasts, birds, trees, 
and herbs of the earth, and the fishes of the water ; and ropes, 
budgets, chests, and troughs of gold ; yea, and a garden of 
pleasure in an island near Puna, where they went to recreate 
themselves when they would take the air of the sea, which had 
all kind of garden herbs, flowers, and trees of gold and silver of 
an invention and magnificence till then never seen.’ 

Now the greater part of this treasure (and be it remembered 
that these wonders were hardly exaggerated, and that there 
were many men alive then who had beheld them, as they had 
worse things, ‘ with their corporal and mortal eyes’) was hidden 
by the Indians when Pizarro conquered Peru, and slew Ata- 
huallpa, son of Huaynacapac ; at whose death, it was said, one 
of the Inca’s younger brothers fled out of Peru, and taking with 
him a great army, vanquished all that tract which lieth between 
the great Rivers of Amazons and Baraquan, otherwise called 
Maranon and Orenoque. 

There he sits to this day, beside the golden lake, in the gold- 
en city which is in breadth a three days’ journey, covered, he 
and his court, with gold dust from head to foot, waiting for the 
fulfilment of the ancient prophecy which was written in the 
Temple of Caxamarca, where his ancestors worshipped of old ; 
that heroes shall come out of the West, and lead him back 
across the forests to the kingdom of Peru, and restore him to 
the glory of his forefathers. 

Golden phantom ! so possible, so probable, to imaginations 
which were yet reeling before the actual and veritable prodigies 
of Peru, Mexico, and the East Indies. Golden phantom ! which 
has cost already the lives of thousands, and shall yet cost more ; 
from Diego de Ordas, and Juan Corteso, and many another, 
who went forth on the quest by the Andes, and by the Orinoco, 
and by the Amazons; Antonio Sedenno, with his ghastly cara- 
van of manacled Indians, ‘ on whose dead carcases the tigers 
being fleshed, assaulted the Spaniards;’ Augustine Delgado, 
who ‘ came to a cacique, who entertained him with all kind- 
ness, and gave him beside much gold and slaves, three nymphs 
very beautiful, which bare the names of three provinces, Guanba, 
Gotoguane, and Maiarare. To requite which manifold courte- 
sies, he carried off, not only all the gold, but all the Indians he 
could seize, and took them in irons to Cubagua, and sold them 
for slaves ; after which, Delgado was shot in the eye by an 
Indian, of which hurt he died ; ’ Pedro d’Orsua, who found the 


200 


HOW AMYAS KEPT 


cinnamon forests of Loxas, ‘ whom his men murdered, and 
afterwards beheaded Lady Anes his wife, who forsook not her 
lord in all his travels unto death and many another, who has 
vanished with valiant comrades at his back into the green gulfs 
of the primaeval forests, never to emerge again. Golden phan- 
tom ! man-devouring, whose maw is never satiate with souls of 
heroes; fatal to Spain ; more fatal still to England upon that 
shameful day, when the last of Elizabeth’s heroes shall lay 
down his head upon the block, nominally for having believed 
what all around him believed likewise, till they found it expe- 
dient to deny it, in order to curry favor with the crowned cur 
who betrayed him ; really because he alone dared to make one 
last protest in behalf of liberty and Protestantism against the 
incoming night of tyranny and superstition. Little thought 
Amyas, as he devoured the pages of that manuscript, that he 
was laying a snare for the life of the man whom, next to Drake 
and Grenvile, he most admired on earth. 

But Don Guzman, on the other hand, seemed to have an 
instinct that that book might be a fatal gift to his captor ; for 
one day, ere Amyas had looked into it, he began questioning 
the Don about El Dorado. Whereon Don Guzman replied with 
one of those smiles of his, which (as Amyas said afterwards) 
was so abominably like a sneer, that he had often hard work to 
keep his hands off the man, — 

‘ Ah ! You have been eating of the fruit of the tree of 
knowledge, Senor? Well; if you have any ambition to follow 
many another brave captain to the pit, I know no shorter or 
easier path than is contained in that little book.’ 

‘ I have never opened your book,’ said Amyas ; ‘ your private 
manuscripts are no concern of mine ; but my man who re- 
covered your baggage read part of it, knowing no better; and 
now you are at liberty to tell me as little as you like.’ 

The ‘ man,’ it should be said, was none other than Salvation 
Yeo, who had attached himself by this time inseparably to 
Amyas, in quality of body-guard ; and, as was common enough 
in those days, had turned soldier for the nonce, and taken under 
his patronage two or three rusty bases (swivels) and falconets 
(four-pounders), which grinned harmlessly enough from the 
tower top across the cheerful expanse of bog. 

Amyas once asked him, how he reconciled this Irish sojourn 
with his vow to find his little maid ? Yeo shook his head. 

‘ I can’t tell. Sir ; but there’s something that makes me always 
to think of you when I think of her ; and that’s often enough, 
the Lord knows. Whether it is that 1 ben’t to find the dear 
without your help ; or whether it is your pleasant face puts me 


HIS CHRISTMAS HAY. 


201 


in mind of hers ; or what, I can’t tell ; but don’t you part me 
from you, Sir ; for I’m like Ruth, and where you lodge, I lodge ; 
and where you go, I go ; and where you die — though I shall 
die many a year first — there I’ll die, I hope and trust ; for I 
can’t abear you out of my sight ; and that’s the truth thereof.’ 

So Yeo remained with Amyas, while Cary went elsewhere 
with Sir Warham St. Leger, and the two friends met seldom for 
many months ; so that Amyas’s only companion was Don Guz- 
man, who, as he grew more familiar, and more careless about 
what he said and did in his captor’s presence, often puzzled and 
scandalized him by his waywardness. Fits of deep melancholy 
alternated with bursts of Spanish boastfulness, utterly astonish- 
ing to the modest and sober-minded Englishman, who would 
often have fancied him inspired by usquebaugh, had he not had 
ocular proof of his extreme abstemiousness. 

‘ Miserable .? ’ said he, one night in one of these fits. ‘ And 
have I not a right to be miserable ? Why should I not curse 
the virgin and all the saints, and die ? I have not a friend, not 
a ducat on earth ; not even a sword — hell and the furies ! It 
was my all ; the only bequest I ever had from my father, and I 
lived by it and earned by it. Two years ago I had as pretty a 
sum of gold as cavalier could wish — and now ! ’ — 

‘ What is become of it, then ? I cannot hear that our men 
plundered you of any.’ 

‘ Your men ? No, Senor ! What fifty men dared not have 
done, one woman did ! a painted, patched, fucused, periwigged, 
bolstered, Charybdis, cannibal, Megaera, Lamia ! Why did I 
ever go near that cursed Naples, the common sewer of Europe ? 
whose women, I believe, would be swallowed up by Vesuvius 
to-morrow, if it were not that Belphegor is afraid of their mak- 
ing the pit itself too hot to hold him. Well, Sir, she had all of 
mine and more ; and when all was gone in wine and dice, 
woodcocks’ brains and ortolans’ tongues, I met the witch walk- 
ing with another man. I had a sword and a dagger : I gave 
him the first (though the dog fought well enough, to give him 
his due), and her the second ; left them lying across each other, 
and fled for my life ; — and here I am! after twenty years of 
fighting, from the Levant to the Orellana — for I began ere I 
had a hair on my chin — and this is the end ! No, it is not 1 
I’ll have that El Dorado yet ! the Adelantado made Berreo, 
when he gave him his daughter, swear that he would hunt for 
it, through life and death. We’ll see who finds it first, he or 
I. He’s a bungler ; Orsua was a bungler — Pooh ! Cortes and 
Pizarro ? we’ll see whether there are not as good Castilians as 
they left still. I can do it, Senor. I know a track, a plan ; 


202 


now AMYAS KEPT 


over the Llanos is the road ; and I’ll be Emperor of Manoa yet 
— possess the jewels of all the Incas ; and gold, gold ! Pizarro 
was a begger to what I will be ! ’ 

‘ Conceive, Sir,’ he broke forth during another of the pea- 
cock fits, as Amyas and he were riding along the hill-side ; 
‘ conceive ! with forty chosen cavaliers (what need of more?) 
I present myself before the golden king, trembling amid his 
myriad guards at the new miracle of the mailed centaurs of the 
West ; and without dismounting, I approach his throne, lift the 
crucifix which hangs around my neck, and pressing it to my 
lips, present it'for the adoration of the idolater, and give him 
his alternative ; that which Gayfeios and the Cid, my ancestors, 
offered the Soldan and the Moor — baptism or death! He hes- 
itates ; perhaps smiles scornfully upon my little band : I answer 
him by deeds, as Don Ferdinando, my illustrious grandfather, 
answered Atahuallpa in Peru, in sight of all his court and 
camp.’ 

‘ With your lance-point, as Gayferos did the Soldan ? ’ asked 
Amyas, amused. 

‘ No, Sir ; persuasion first, for the salvation of a soul is at 
stake. Not with the lance-point, but the spur. Sir, thus ! ’ — . 

And striking his heels into his horse’s flanks, he darted off at 
full speed. 

‘ The Spanish traitor ! ’ shouted Yeo. ‘ He’s going to escape ! 
Shall we shoot, Sir ? Shall we shoot ? ’ 

‘ For heaven’s sake, no ! ’ said Amyas, looking somewhat 
blank, nevertheless, for he much doubted whether the whole 
was not a ruse on the part of the Spaniard, and he knew how 
impossible it was for his fifteen stone of flesh to give chase to 
the Spaniard’s twelve. But he was soon reassured ; the Span- 
iard wheeled round towards him, and began to put the rough 
hackney through all the paces of the manege with a grace and 
skill which won applause from the beholders. 

‘ Thus ! ’ he shouted, waving his hand to Amyas, between 
his curvets and caracoles, ‘ did my illustrious grandfather 
exhibit to the Paynim Emperor the prowess of a Castilian cava- 
lier ! Thus I — and thus 1 — and thus, at last, he dashed up to 
his very feet, as I to yours, and bespattering that unbaptized 
visage with his Christian bridle-foam, pulled up his charger on 
his haunches, thus ! ’ — 

And (as was to be expected from a blown Irish garron on a 
peaty Irish hill-side) down went the hapless hackney on his tail, 
away went his heels a yard in front of him, and ere Don Guz- 
man could ‘ avoid his selle,’ horse and man rolled over into a 
neighboring bog-hole. 


HIS CHIESTMAS DAY. 


203 


‘ After pride comes a fall,’ quoth Yeo with unmoved visage, 
as he lugged him out. 

‘ And what would you do with the Emperor at last ? ’ asked 
Amyas when the Don had been scrubbed somewhat clean with 
a bunch of rushes. ‘ Kill him, as your grandfather did Ata- 
haullpa ? ’ 

‘ My grandfather,’ answered the Spaniard indignantly, ‘ was 
one of those who, to their eternal honor, protested to the last 
against that most cruel and unknightly massacre. He could be 
terrible to the heathen ; but he kept his plighted word, Sir, and 
taught me to keep mine, as you have seen to-day.’ 

‘ 1 have, Sehor,’ said Amyas. ‘ You might have given us 
the slip easily enough just now, and did not. Pardon me if I 
have offended you.’ 

The Spaniard (who, after all, was cross principally with him- 
self and the ‘ unlucky mare’s son,’ as the old romances have 
it, which had played him so scurvy a trick) was all smiles again 
forthwith ; and Amyas, as they chatted on, could not help ask- 
ing him next, — 

‘ I wonder why you are so frank about your own intentions 
to. an enemy like me, who will surely' forestall you if he 
can.’ 

‘ Sir, a Spaniard needs no concealment, and fears no rivalry. 
He is the soldier of the cross, and in it he conquers, like Con- 
stantine of old. Not that you English are not very heroes ; 
but you have not. Sir, and you cannot have, who have forsworn 
our Lady and the choir of saints, the ‘same divine protection, 
the same celestial mission, which enables the Catholic cavalier 
single-handed to chase a thousand Paynims.’ 

And Don Guzman crossed himself devoutly,, and muttered 
half-a-dozen Ave Marias in succession, while Amyas rose 
silently by his side, utterly puzzled at this strange compound of 
shrewdness with fanaticism, of perfect high-breeding with a 
boastfulness which in an Englishman would have been the sure 
mark of vulgarity. 

At last came a letter from Sir Richard Grenvile, compliment- 
ing Amyas on his success and promotion, bearing a long and 
courtly message to Don Guzman (whom Grenvile had known 
when he was in the Mediterranean, at the battle of Lepanto), 
and offering to receive him as his own guest at Bideford, till his 
ransom should arrive: a proposition which the Spaniard (who 
of course was getting sufficiently tired of the Irish bogs) could 
not but gladly accept; and one of Wniter’s ships, returning ta 
England in the spring of 1581, delivered duly at the quay of 


204 


HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHEISTMAS DAY. 


Bideford the body of Don Guzman Maria Magdalena. Raleigh 
after forming for that summer one of the triumvirate by which 
Munster was governed after Ormond’s departure, at last got his 
wish, and departed for England and the court; and Amyas was 
left alone with the snipes and yellow mantles for two more 
weary years. 


V 


mf 




THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD, ETC. 


205 



CHAPTER X.^ 

HOW THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS HOOK WITH 
HIS OWN FLESH. 

* And therewith he blent, and cried ha ! • 

As though he had been stricken to the harte.* 

Palamon and Arcite, 

So it befel to Chaucer’s knight in prison ; and so it hefel 
also to Don Guzman ; and it hefel on this wise. 

He settled down quietly enough at Bideford on this parole, in 
better quarters than he had occupied for many a day, and took 
things as they came, like a true soldier of fortune ; till, after 
he had been with Grenvile hardly a month, old Salterne the 
Mayor came to supper. 

Now Don Guzman, however much he might be puzzled at 
first at our strange English ways of asking burghers and such 
low-bred folk to eat and drink above the salt, in the company 
of noble persons, was quite gentleman enough to know that 
Richard Grenvile was gentle enough to do only what was cor- 
rect, and according to the customs and proprieties. So after 
shrugging the shoulders of his spirit, he submitted to eat and 
drink at the same board with a tradesman who sat at a desk, 
and made up ledgers, and took apprentices ; and hearing him 
talk with Grenvile neither unwisely nor in a vulgar fashion, ac- 
tually, before the evening was out, condescended to exchange 
words with him himself. Whereon he found him a very prudent 
and courteous person, quite aware of the Spaniard’s superior 
rank, and making him feel, in every sentence, that he was 
aware thereof ; and yet holding his own opinion, and asserting 
his own rights as a wise elder, in a fashion which the Spaniard 
had only seen before among the merchant princes of Genoa 
and Venice. 

At the end of supper, Salterne asked Grenvile to do his hum- 
ble roof the honor, &c., &c., of supping with him the next 
evening ; and then turning to the Don, said quite frankly, that 
he knew how great a condescension it would be on the part of 
18 


206 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED IIIS HOOK 

a nobleman of Spain to sit at the board of a simple merchant : 
but that if the Spaniard designed to do him such a favor, he 
would find that the cheer was fit enough for any rank, whatso- 
ever the company might be ; which invitation Don Guzman, 
being on the whole glad enough of any thing to amuse him, 
graciously condescended to accept, and gained thereby an ex- 
cellent supper, and, if he had chosen to drink it, much good 
wine. 

Now Mr.. Salterne was, of course, as a wise merchant, as 
ready as any man for an adventure to foreign parts, as was 
afterwards proved by his great ex-ertions in the settlement of 
Virginia! and he was, therefore, equally ready to rack the 
brains of any guest whom he suspected of knowing anything 
concerning strange lands ; and so he thought no shame, first to 
try to loose his guest’s tongue by much good sack, and next to 
ask him prudent and well concocted questions concerning the 
Spanish Main, Peru, the Moluccas, China, the Indies, and all 
parts. 

The first of which schemes failed ; for the Spaniard was 
as abstemious as any monk, and drank little but water j the 
second succeeded not over well, for the Spaniard was as cun- 
ning as any fox, and answered little but wind. 

In the midst of which tongue-fence in came the Rose of Tor- 
ridge, looking as beautiful as usual ; and hearing what they 
were upon, added, artlessly enough, her questions to her father’s ; 
to her Don Guzman could not but answer ; and without reveal- 
ing any very important commercial secrets, gave his host and 
his host’s daughter a very amusing evening. 

Now little Eros, though spirits like Frank Leigh’s may 
choose to call him (as, perhaps, he really is to them) the eldest 
of the gods and the son of Jove and Venus, yet is reported by 
other equally good authorities, as Burton has set forth in his 
‘ Anatomy of Melancholy,’ to be after all only the child of idle- 
ness and fulness of bread. To which scandalous calumny the 
thoughts of Don Guzman’s heart gave at least a certain color ; 
for he being idle (as captives needs must be), and also full of 
bread (for Sir Richard kept a very good table), had already 
looked round for mere amusement’s sake after some one with 
whom^to fall in love. Lady Grenvile, as nearest, was, I blush 
to say' thought of first : but the Spaniard Was a man of honor, 
and Sir Richard his host ; so he put away from his mind (with 
a self-denial on which he plumed himself much) the pleasure 
of a chase equally exciting to his pride and his love of danger. 
As for the sinfulness of the said chase, he of course thought no 
more of that than other southern Europeans did then, or tlian 


WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 


207 


(I blush again to have to say it) the English did afterwards in 
the days of the Stuarts. Nevertheless, he had put Lady Gren- 
vile out of his mind ; and so left room to take Rose Sal- 
terne into it, not with any distinct purpose of wronging her : 
but, as I said before, half to amuse himself, and half, too, 
because he could not help it. For there was an innocent fresh- 
ness about the Rose of Torridge, fond as she was of being 
admired, which was new to him and most attractive. • The 
train of the peacock,’ as he said to himself, ‘ and yet the heart 
of the dove,’ made so charming a combination, that if he could 
have persuaded her to love no one but him, perhaps he might 
become fool enough to love no one but her. And at that 
thought he was seized with a very panic of prudence, and 
resolved to keep out of her way ; and yet the days ran slowly, 
and Lady Grenvile when at home was stupid enough to talk 
and think about nothing but her husband ; and when she went 
1o Stow, and left the Don alone in one corner of the great 
house at Bideford, what could he do but lounge down “to the 
butt-gardens to show, off his fine black cloak and fine black 
feather, see the shooting, have a game or two of rackets with 
the youngsters, a game or two of bowls with the elders, and 
get himself invited home to supper by Mr. Salterne ? 

And there of course he had it all his own way, and ruled the 
roast (which he was fond enough of doing) right royally, not 
only on account of his rank, but because he had something to say 
worth hearing, as a travelled man. For those times were the 
day-dawn of English commerce ; and not a merchant in Bide- 
ford, or in all England, but had his imagination all on fire with 
projects of discoveries, companies, privileges, patents, and set- 
tlements ; with gallant rivalry of the brave adventures of Sir 
Edward Osborne and his new London Company of Turkey 
Merchants ; with the privileges just granted by the Sultan Murad 
Khan to the English ; with the worthy Levant voyages of Roger 
Bodenham in the great bark Aucher, and of John Fox, and 
Lawrence Aldersey, and John Rule ; and with hopes from the 
vast door for Mediterranean trade, which the crushing of the 
Venetian power at Famagusta in Cyprus, and the alliance made 
between Elizabeth and the Grand Turk, had just thrown open. 
So not a word could fall from the Spaniard about the Mediter- 
ranean but took root at once in right fertile soil. Besides, Master 
Edmund Hogan had been on a successful embassy to the Em- 
peror of Morocco ; John Hawkins and George Fenner had 
been to Guinea (and with the latter Mr. Walter Wren, a Bide- 
ford man), and had traded there for musk and civet, gold and 
grains ; and African news was becoming almost as valuable as 


208 


HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK 


West Indian. Moreover, but two months before had gone from 
London Captain Hare in the bark Minion, for Brazil, and a 
company of adventurers with him, with Sheffield hardware, 
and ‘ Devonshire and northern kersies,’ hollands and ‘ Man- 
chester cottons,’ for there was a great opening for English 
goods by the help of one John Whithall, who had married a 
Spanish heiress, and had an ingenio and slaves in Santos. 
(Don’t smile, reader, or despise the day of small things, and 
those who sowed the seed whereof you reap the mighty har- 
vest.) In the meanwhile, Drake had proved not merely the pos- 
sibility of plundering the American coasts, but of establishing 
an East Indian trade ; Frobisher and Davis, worthy forefathers 
of our Parrys and Franklins, had begun to bore their way 
upward through the northern ice, in search of a passage to 
China which should avoid the dangers of the Spanish seas ; 
and Anthony Jenkinson, not the least of English travellers, 
had, in six-and-twenty years of travel in behalf of the Musco- 
vite Company, 'penetrated into not merely Russia and the Levant, 
but Persia and Armenia, Bokhara, Tartary, Siberia, and those 
waste Arctic shores where, thirty years before, the brave Sir 
Hugh Willoughby, 

‘ In Arzina caught, 

Perished with all his crew.* 

Everywhere English commerce, under the genial sunshine of 
Elizabeth’s wise rule, was spreading and taking root ; and as 
Don Guzman talked with his new friends, he soon saw (for he 
was shrewd enough), that they belonged to a race which must 
be exterminated if Spain intended to become (as she did intend) 
the mistress of the world ; and that it was not enough for Spain 
to have seized in the Pope’s name the whole new world, and 
claimed the exclusive right to sail the seas of America ; not 
enough to have crushed the Hollanders ; not enough to have 
degraded the Venetians into her bankers, and Genoese into 
her mercenaries ; not enough to have incorporated into herself 
with the kingdom of Portugal, the whole East Indian trade of 
Portugal, while these fierce islanders remained to assert, with 
cunning policy and text of Scripture, and, if they failed, with 
sharp shot and cold steel, free seas and free trade for all the 
nations upon earth. He saw it, and his countrymen saw it too ; 
and therefore the Spanish Armada came : but of that hereafter! 
And Don Guzman knew also, by hard experience, that these 
same islanders, who sat in Salterne’s parlor talking broad Devon 
through their noses, were no mere counters of money and 
hucksters of goods ; but men who, though they thoroughly 


WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 


209 


hated fighting, and loved making money instead, could fight, 
upon occasion, after a very dogged and terrible fashion, as 
well as the bluest blood in Spain ; and who sent out their mer- 
chant ships armed up to the teeth, and filled with men who had 
- been trained from childhood to use those arms, and had orders 
to use them without mercy if either Spaniard, Portugal, or other 
created being, dared to stop their money-making. And one 
evening he waxed quite mad, when, after having civilly enough 
hinted that if Englishmen came where they had no right to 
come, they might find themselves sent back again, he was an- 
swered by a volley of — 

‘ We’ll see that. Sir.’ 

‘ Depends on wlio says “ No right.” ’ 

‘ You found might rights’ said another, ‘ when you claimed 
the Indian seas ; we may find right might when we try them.’ 

‘ Try them, then, gentlemen, by all means, if it shall so 
please your worships ; and find the sacred flag of Spain as 
invincible as ever was the Roman eagle.’ 

‘ We have. Sir. Did you ever hear of Francis Drake ? ’ 

‘ Or of Gjorge Fenner and the Portugals at the Azores, one 
against seven .? ’ 

‘ Or of John Hawkins, at St. Juan d’Ulloa ? ’ 

‘ You are insolent burghers,’ said Don Guzman, and rose to 

‘ Sir,’ said old Salterne, ‘ as you say, we are burghers and 
plain men, and some of us have forgotten ourselves a little, 
perhaps ; we must beg you to forgive our want of manners, 
and put it down to the strength of my wine ; for insolent we 
never meant to be, especially to a noble gentleman and a for- 
eigner.’ ' 

But the Don would not be pacified ; and walked out, calling 
himself an ass and a blinkard for having demeaned himself to 
such company, forgetting that he had brought it on himself. 

Salterne (prompted by the great devil Mammon) came up to 
him next day, and begged pardon again ; promising, moreover, 
that none of those who had been so rude should be henceforth 
asked to meet him, if he would deign to honor his house once 
more. And the Don actually was appeased, and went there 
the very next evening, sneering at himself the whole time for 
going. 

‘ Fool that I am ! that girl has bewitched me, I believe. Go 
I must, and eat my share of dirt, for her sake.’ 

So he went ; and cunningly enough hinted to old Salterne 
that he had taken such a fancy to him, and felt so bound by 
his courtesy and hospitality, that he might not object to tell 
18 * 


210 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK 

him things which he would not mention to every one ; for that 
the Spaniards were not jealous of single traders, but of any 
general attempt to deprive them of their hard-earned wealth : 
that, however, in the meanwhile, there were plenty of oppor- 
tunities for one man here and there to enrich himself, &c. 

Old Salterne, shrewd as he was, had -his weak point, and 
the Spaniard had touched it ; and delighted at this opportunity 
of learning the mysteries of the Spanish monopoly, he often 
actually set Rose on to draw out the Don, without a fear (so blind 
does money make men) lest she might be herself drawn in. 
For, first, he held it as impossible that she would think of mar- 
rying a Popish Spaniard as of marrying the man in the moon ; 
and, next, as impossible that he would think of marrying a 
burgher’s daughter as of marrying a negress ; and trusted that 
the religion of the one, and the family pride of the other, 
would keep them as separate as beings of two different spe- 
cies. And as for love without marriage, if such a possibility 
ever crossed him, the thought was rendered absurd ; on Rose’s 
part by her virtue, on which the old man (and rightly) would 
have staked every farthing he had on earth ; and on the Don’s 
part, by a certain human fondness for the continuity of the 
carolic artery and the parts adjoining, for which (and that not 
altogether justly, seeing that Don Guzman cared as little for 
his own life as he did for his neighbor’s) Mr. Salterne gave him 
credit. And so it came to pass, that for weeks and months, 
the merchant’s house was the Don’s favorite haunt, and he 
saw the Rose of Torridge daily, and the Rose of Torridge 
heard him. 

And as for her, poor child, she had never seen such a man. 
He had, or seemed to have, all the high-bred grace of Frank, and 
yet he was cast in a manlier mould ; he had just enough of his 
nation’s proud self-assertion to make a woman bow before him 
as before a superior, and yet tact enough to let it very seldom 
degenerate into that boastfulness of which the Spaniards were 
then so often and so justly accused. He had marvels to tell by 
flood and field, as many and more than Amyas ; and he told 
them with a grace and an eloquence of which modest, simple, 
old Amyas possessed nothing. Besides, he was on the spot, 
and the Leighs were not, nor indeed were any of her old lovers ; 
and what could she do but amuse herself with the only person 
w'ho came to hand ? 

So thought, in lime, more ladies than she ; for the county, 
the north of it at least, was all but bare just then of young 
gallants, what with the Netherland wars and the Irish wars'; 
and the Spaniard became soon welcome at every house foi 


WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 


211 


many a mile round, and made use of his welcome so freely, 
and received so much unwonted attention from fair young 
dames, that his head might have been a little turned, and Rose 
Salterne have thereby escaped, had not Sir Richard delicately 
given him to understand, that in spite of the free and easy 
manners of English ladies, brothers were just as jealous, and 
ladies’ honors at least as inexpugnable, as in the land of de- 
mureness and Duennas. Don Guzman took the hint well 
enough, and kept on as good terms with the country gentlemen 
as with their daughters ; and to tell the'truth, the cunning sol- 
dier of fortune found his account in being intimate with all the 
ladies he could, in order to prevent old Salterne from fancying 
that he had any peculiar predilection for Mistress Rose. 

Nevertheless, Mr. Salterne’s parlor being nearest to him, 
still remained his most common haunt ; where, while he dis- 
coursed for hours about 

< Antres vast and deserts idle, % 

And of the cannibals that each other eat. 

Of Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders,’ 

to the boundless satisfaction of poor Rose’s fancy, he took care 
to season his discourse with scraps of, mercantile information, 
which kept the old merchant always expectant and hankering 
for more, and made it. worth his while to ask the Spaniard in 
again and again. 

And his stories, certainly, were worth hearing. He seemed 
to have been everywhere, and to have seen everything : born 
in Peru, and sent home to Spain at ten years old ; brought up 
in Italy; a soldier in the Levant; an adventurer to the East 
Indies; again in America, first in the islands, and then in 
Mexico. Then back again to Spain, and thence to Rome, and 
thence to Ireland. Shipwrecked captive among savages ; 
looking down the craters of volcanoes ; hanging about all the 
courts of Europe ; fighting Turks, Indians, lions, elephants, 
alligators, and what not ? at five-and-thirty he had seen enough 
for three lives, and knew how to make the best of what he had 
seen. 

He had shared, as a lad, in the horrors of the memorable 
siege of Famagusta, and had escaped, he hardly knew himself 
how, from the hands of the victorious Turks; and from the 
certainty (if he escaped being flayed alive or impaled, as most 
of the captive officers were) of ending his life as a Janissary at 
the Sultan’s court. He had been in the Battle of the Three 
Kings ; had seen Stukely borne down by a hundred lances, un- 


212 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK 

conquered even in death ; and had held upon his knee the head 
of the dying king of Portugal. 

And now, as he said to Rose one evening, what had he left 
on earth, but a heart trampled as hard as the pavement ? 
Whom had he to love ? Who loved him ? He had nothing 
for which to live but fame : and even that was denied to him, a 
prisoner in a foreign land. 

‘ Had he no kindred, then ? ’ asked pitying Rose. 

‘ My two sisters are in a convent ; — they had neither money 
nor beauty, so they are dead to me. My brother is a Jesuit, 
so he is dead to me. My father fell by the hands of Indians in 
Mexico; my mother, a pennyless widow, is companion, duenna 

— whatsoever they may choose to call it — carrying fans and 
lap-dogs for some princess or other there in Seville, of no better 
blood than herself ; and I — devil ! I have lost even my sword 

— and so fares the house of De Soto.’ 

Don Guzman, of course, intended to be pitied, and pitied he 
was accordingly. And then he would turn the conversation, 
and begin telling Italian stories, after the Italian fashion, accord- 
ing to his auditory ; the pathetic ones when Rose was present, 
the racy ones when she was absent ; so that Rose had wept over 
the sorrows of Juliet and.Desdemona, and over many another 
moving tale, long before they were ever enacted on an English 
stage, and the ribs of the Bideford worthies had shaken to many 
a jest which Cinthio and Bandello’s ghosts must come and make 
for themselves over again if they wish them to be remembered, 
for I shall lend them no shove toward immortality. 

And so on, and so on. What need of more words ? Before 
a year was out. Rose Salterne was far more in love with Don 
Guzman than he with her ; and both suspected each other’s 
mind, though neither hinted at the truth ; she from fear, and he, 
to tell the truth, from sheer Spanish pride of blood. For he 
soon began to find out that he must compromise that blood by 
marrying the heretic burgher’s daughter, qr all his labor would 
be thrown away. * 

He had seen with much astonishment, and then practised 
with much pleasure, that graceful old English fashion of salut- 
ing every lady on the cheek at meeting, which (like the old 
Dutch fashion of asking young ladies out to feasts without their 
mothers) used to give such cause of brutal calumny and scan- 
dal to the coarse minds of Romish visitors from the Continent ; 
and he had seen, too, fuming with jealous rage, more than one 
Bideford burgher, redolent of onions, profane in that way the 
velvet cheek of Rose Salterne. 

So, one day, he offered his salute in like wise ; but he did it 


WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 


213 


when she was alone ; for something within (perhaps a guilty 
conscience) whispered that it might' be hardly politic to make 
, the proffer in her father’s presence : however, to his astonish- 
ment, he received a prompt though quiet rebuff. 

‘ No, Sir ; you should know that my cheek is not for you.’ 

‘ Why,’ said he, stifling his anger, ‘ it seems free enough to 
every counter-jumper in the town ! ’ 

Was it love, or simple innocence, which made her answer 
apologetically. 

‘ True, Don Guzman ; but they are my equals.’ 

‘And I.?’ 

You are a nobleman, Sir ; and should recollect that you are 
one.’ 

‘Well,’ said he, forcing a sneer, ‘it is a strange taste to 
prefer the shopkeeper ! ’ 

‘Prefer?’ said she, forcing a laugh in her turn; ‘ it is a 
mere form among us. They are nothing to me, I can tell 
you.’ 

‘ And I, then, less than nothing? ’ 

‘ Rose turned very red ; but she had nerve to answer, — 

‘ And why should you be anything to me ? You have con- 
descended too much. Sir, already to us, in giving us many a — 
many a pleasant evening. You must condescend no further. 
You wrong yourself. Sir, and me too. No, Sir ; not a step 
nearer ! — 1 will not ! A salute between equals means nothing : 
but between you and me — I vow. Sir, if you do not leave me 
this moment, I will complain to my father.’ 

‘ Do so, Madam ! 1 care as little for your father’s anger, as 

you for my misery.’ 

‘ Cruel ! ’ cried Rose, trembling from head to foot. 

‘ I love you. Madam ! ’ cried he, throwing himself at her feet. 

‘ I adore you ! Never mention differences of rank to me 
more ; for I have forgotten them ; forgotten all but love, all 
but you, Madam ! My light, my lodestar, my princess, my 
goddess ! You see where my pride is gone ; remember 1 plead 
as a suppliant, a beggar — though one who may be one day a 
prince, a king ! ay, and a prince now, a very Lucifer of pride 
to all except to you ; to you a wretch who grovels at your feet, 
and cries, “ Have mercy on me, on my loneliness, my home- 
lessness, my friendlessness.” Ah, Rose (Madam I should have 
said, forgive the madness of my passion), you know not the 
heart which you break. Cold Northerns, you little dream how 
a Spaniard can love. Love ? Worship, rather ; as I worship 
you. Madam ; as I bless the captivity which brought me the 
sight of you, and the ruin which first made me rich. Is it pos- 


214 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK, EOT. 

sible, Saints and Virgin ! do my own tears deceive my eyes, or 
are there tears, too, in those radiant orbs ? ’ 

‘ Go, Sir ! ’ cried poor Rose, recovering herself suddenly ; 
and let me never see you more.’ And as a last chance for 
life, she darted out of the room. 

‘Your slave obeys you. Madam, and kisses your hands and 
feet for ever and a day,’ said the cunning Spaniard, and draw- 
ing himself up walked serenely out of the house ; while she, 
poor fool, peeped after him out of her window up-stairs, and 
her heart sank within her as she watched his jaunty and care- 
less air. 

How much of that rhapsody of his was honest, how much 
premeditated, I cannot tell ; though she, poor child, began to 
fancy that it was all a set speech, when she found that he had 
really taken her at her word, and set foot no more within her 
father’s house. So she reproached herself for the cruelest of 
women ; settled, that if he died, she should be his murderess ; 
watched for him to pass at the window, in hopes that he might 
look up, and then hid herself in terror the moment he appeared 
round the corner ; and so forth, and so forth : — one love-mak- 
ing is very like another, and has been so, I suppose, since that 
first blessed marriage in Paradise, when Adam and Eve made 
no love at all, but found it ready-made for them from heaven ; 
and really it is fiddling while Rome is burning, to spend more 
pages over the sorrows of poor little Rose Salterne, while the 
destinies of Europe are hanging on the marriage between Eliza- 
beth and Anjou ; and Sir Humphrey Gilbert is stirring heaven 
and ■ earth, and Devonshire, of course, as the most important 
portion of the said earth, to carry out his dormant patent, which 
will give to England in due time (we are not jesting now) New- 
foundland, Nova Scotia, and Canada, and the Northern States ; 
and to Humphrey Gilbert himself something better than a new 
world, namely another world, and a crown of glory therein 
which never fades away. 


HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE’s LEGATE. 215 



CHAPTER XI. 

HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 

* Misguided, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 

Thou see’st to be too busy is some danger.’ 

Hamlet. 

It is the spring of 1582-83. The gray March skies are 
curdling hard and high above black mountain peaks. The keen 
March wind is sweeping harsh and dry across a dreary sheet of 
bog, still red and yellow with the stains of winter frost. One 
brown knoll alone breaks the w'aste, and on it a few leafless 
wind-dipt oaks stretch their moss-grown arms, like giant hairy 
spiders, above a desolate pool which -crisps and shivers in the 
biting breeze, while from beside its brink rises a mournful cry, 
and sweeps down, faint and fitful, amid the howling of the 
wind. 

Along the brink of the bog, picking their road among crumb- 
ling rocks and green spongy springs, a company of English 
soldiers are pushing fast, clad cap-a-pie in helmet and quilted 
jerkin, with arquebus on shoulder, and pikes trailing behind 
them ; stern steadfast men, who, two years since, were working 
the guns at Smerwick Fort, and have since then seen many a 
bloody fray, and shall see more before they die. Two captains 
ride before them on shaggy ponies, the taller in armor, stained 
and rusted with many a storm and fray, the other in brilliant 
inlaid cuirass and helmet, gaudy sash and plume, and sword 
hilt glittering with gold, a quaint contrast enough to the meagre 
garron which carries him and his finery. Beside them, secured 
by a cord which a pikeman has fastened to his own wrist, trots 
a bare-leggcd Irish kerne, whose only clothing is his ragged 
yellow mantle, and the unkempt ‘glib’ of hair, through which 
his eyes peer out, right and left, in mingled fear and sullen- 
ness. He is the guide of the company, in their hunt after the 
rebel Baltinglas ; and woe to him if he play them false. 

‘ A pleasant country, truly. Captain Raleigh,’ says the dingy 
officer to the gay one ; ‘ I wonder how, having once escaped 


p 


216 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH 

from it to Whitehall, you have the courage to come back and 
spoil that gay suit with bog-water and mud.’ 

‘ A very pleasant country, my friend Amyas ; what you say 
in jest, I say in earnest.’ 

‘ Hillo ! Our tastes have changed places. I am sick of it 
already, as you foretold. Would heaven that I could hear of 
some adventure westward ho ! and find these big bones swing- 
ing in a hammock once more. Pray what has made you so 
suddenly in love with bog and rock, that you come back to 
tramp them with us ? I thought you had spied out the naked- 
ness of the land long ago.’ 

‘ Bog and rock ? Nakedness of the land .? What is needed 
here but prudence and skill, justice and law.? This soil, see, 
is fat enough, if men were here to till it. These rocks — who 
knows what minerals they may hold ? I hear of gold and 
jewels found already in divers parts ; and Daniel, my brother 
Humphrey’s German assayer, assures me that these rocks are 
of the very same kind as those which yield the silver in Peru. 
Tut, man ! if her gracious Majesty would but bestow on me 
some few square miles of this same wilderness, in seven years’ 
time I would make it blossom like the rose, by God’s good 
help.’ 

‘ Humph ! I should be more inclined to stay here then.’ 

‘So you shall, and be my agent, if you will, to get in my 
mine-rents, and my corn-rents, and my fishery-rents, eh .? 
Could you keep accounts, old knight of the bear’s paw ? ’ 

‘ Well enough for such short reckonings as yours would be, 
on the profit side at least. No, no — Pd sooner carry lime all 
my days from Cauldy to Bideford, than pass another twelve- 
month in the land of Ire, among the children of wrath. There 
is a curse upon the face of the earth, 1 believe.’ 

‘ There is no curse upon it, save the old one of man’s sin — 
“Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth to thee.” But if you 
root up the thorns and thistles, Amyas, I know no fiend who 
can prevent your growing wheat instead ; and if you till the 
ground like a man, you plough and harrow away nature’s curse, 
and other fables of the schoolmen beside,’ added he, in that 
daring fashion which afterwards obtained for him (and never 
did good Christian less deserve it) the imputation of Atheism. 

‘ It is sword and bullet, I think, that are needed here, be- 
fore plough and harrow, to clear away some of the curse. Until 
a few more of these Irish lords are gone where the Desmonds 
are, there is no peace for Ireland.’ 

‘ Humph ! not so far wrong, I fear. And yet — Irish lords .? 
These very traitors are better English blood than we who hunt 


MET THE pope’s LEGATE. 


217 


them down. When Yeo here slew the Desmond the other day, 
he no more let out a drop of Irish blood, than if he had slain 
the Lord Deputy himself.’ 

‘ His blood be on his own head,’ said Yeo. ‘ He looked as 
wild a savage as the worst of them, more shame to him ; and 
the Ancient here had nigh cut off his arm before he told us who 
he was : and then, your worship having a price upon his head, 
and like to bleed to death too — ’ 

‘ Enough, enough, good fellow,’ said Raleigh. ‘Thou hast 
done what was given thee to do. Strange, Amyas, is it not? 
Noble Normans sunk into savages — Hibernis ipsis hiberni- 
ores ! Is there some uncivilizing venom in the air ? ’ 

‘ Some venom, at least, which makes Englishmen traitors. 
But the Irish themselves are well enough, if their tyrants would 
let them be. See now, what more faithful liegeman has her 
Majesty than the Inchiquin, who, they say, is Prince of The- 
mond, and should be King of all Ireland, if every man had his 
right ? ’ 

‘ Don’t talk of rights in the land of wrongs, man. But the 
Inchiquin knows well that the true Irish Esau has no worse 
enemy than his supplanter, the Norman Jacob. And yet, 
Amyas, are even these men worse than we might be, if we 
had been bred up masters over the bodies and souls of men, in 
some remote land where law and order had never come ? 
Look at this Desmond, brought up a savage among savages, a 
Papist among Papists, a despot among slaves ; a thousand easy 
maidens deeming it honor to serve his pleasure, a thousand wild 
ruffians deeming it piety to fulfil his revenge : and let him that 
is without sin among us cast the first stone.’ 

‘ Ay,’ went on Raleigh to himself, as the conversation 
dropped. ‘ What hadst thou been, Raleigh, hadst thou been 
that Desmond whose lands thou now desirest ? What wilt thou 
be when«thou hast them ? Will thy children sink downwards, 
as these noble barons sank? Will the genius of tyranny and 
falsehood find soil within thy heart to grow and ripen fruit ? 
What guarantee hast thou for doing better here than those who 
went before thee? And yet: cannot I do justice, and love 
mercy ? Can I not establish plantations, build and sow, and 
make the desert valleys laugh with corn ? Shall I not have my 
Spenser with me, to fill me with all noble thoughts, and raise 
my soul to this heroic pitch ? Is not this true knight-errantry, to 
redeem to peace and use, and the glory of that glorious Queen 
whotn God has given to me, a generous soil and a more gener- 
ous race ? Trustful and tender-hearted they are — none more : 
and if they be fickle and passionate, will not that very softness 


218 


now EUSTACE LEIGH 


of temper, which makes them so easily led to evil, make them 
as easy to be led towards good? Yes — here, away from 
courts, among a people who should bless me as their benefac- 
tor and deliverer — what golden days might be mine! And 
yet — is this but another angel’s mask from that same cunning 
fiend Ambition’s stage ? And will my house be indeed the 
house of God, the foundations of which are loyalty, and its 
bulwarks rigliteousness, and not the house of Fame whose walls 
are of the soap-bubble, and its floor a sea of glass mingled with 
fire? 1 would be good and great. When will the day come 
when I shall be content to be good, and yet not great, like this 
same simple Leigh, toiling on by my side to do his duty, with 
no more thought for the morrow than the birds of God ? 
Greatness? I have tasted that cup within the last twelve 
months: do I not know that it is sweet in the mouth, but bitter 
in the belly ? Greatness ? And was not Essex great, and 
John of Austria great, and Desmond great, whose race, but 
three short years ago, had stood for ages l)igher than I shall 
ever hope to climb — castles, and lands, and slaves by thou- 
sands, and five hundred gentlemen of his name, who had 
vowed to forswear God before they forswore him ; and well 
have they kept their vow ! And now, dead in a turf-hovel, like 
a coney in a burrow ! Leigh, what noise was that ? ’ 

‘An Irish howl, I fancied: but it came from off the bog; it 
may be only a plover’s cry.’ 

‘ Something not quite right. Sir Captain, to my mind,’ said 
the Ancient. ‘ They have ugly stories here of pucks and ban- 
shees, and what not of ghosts. There it was again wailing just 
like a woman. They say the banshee cried all night before 
Desmond was slain.’ 

‘ Perhaps, then, this one may be crying for Baltinglas ; for 
his turn is likely to come next — not that I believe in such old 
wives’ tales.’ 

‘ Shamus,'my man,’ said Amyas to the guide, ‘ do you hear 
that cry in the bog ? ’ 

The guide put on the most stolid of faces, and answered in 
broken English : 

‘Shamus hear nought. Perhaps — what you call him? — 
fishing in ta pool.’ 

‘An otter, he means, and I believe he is right. Stay, no ! 
Did you not hear it then, Sharhus ? It was a woman’s voice.’ 

‘ Shamus is shick in his ears ever since Christmas.’ 

‘Shamus will go after Desmond if he lies,’ said Amyas. 
‘ Ancient, we had ^better send a few men to see what it is ; there 


MET THE pope’s LEGATE. 


219 


may be a poor soul taken by robbers, or perhaps starving to 
death, as 1 have seen many a one.’ 

‘ And I too, poor wretches ; and by no fault of their own or 
ours either: but if their lords will fall to quarrelling, and then 
drive each other’s cattle, and waste each other’s lands. Sir, you 
know — ’ 

‘ I know,’ said Amyas, impatiently ; ‘ why dost not take the 
men, and go 

‘Cry you mercy, noble Captain: but — I fear nothing born 
of woman.’ 

‘ Well, what of that ? ’ said Amyas with a smile. 

‘ But these pucks. Sir. The wild Irish do say that they 
haunt the pools; and they do no manner of harm, Sir, when 
you are coming up to them ; but when you are past. Sir, they 
jump on your back like to apes. Sir, — and who can tackle that 
manner of fiend ? ’ 

‘ VVhy, then, by thine own showing. Ancient,’ said Raleigh, 

‘ thou may’st go and see all safely enough, and then if the 
■ puck jumps on thee thou comest back, just run in with him 
here, and i’ll buy him of thee for a noble ; or thou mayest keep 
him in a cage, and make money in London by showing him for 
a monster.’ . . 

‘ Good heavens forefend. Captain Raleigh ! but you talk 
rashly ! But if 1 must. Captain Leigh : — 

“ Where duty calls 

To brazen walls, . 

How base the slave who flinches.’* 

Lads, who’ll follow me ? ’ 

‘ Thou askest for volunteers, as if thou wert to lead a forlorn 
hope. Pull away at the usquebaugh, man, and swallow Dutch 
courage, since thine English is oozed away. Stay ; I’ll go 
myself.’ 

‘And I with you,’ said Raleigh. ‘As the Queen’s true 
knight-errant, I am bound to be behindhand in no adventure. 
Who knows but we may find a wicked magician, just going to 
cut off the head of some saffron-mantled princess ’ and he dis- 
mounted. 

‘ Oh, Sirs, Sirs, to endanger your precious — ’ 

‘ Pooh,’ said Raleigh, ‘ I wear an amulet, and have a spell 
of art- magic at my tongue’s end, whereby, Sir Ancient, neither 
can a ghost see me, nor I see them. Come with us, Yeo, the 
Desmond-slayer, and we will shame the devil, or be shamed by 
him.’ 


220 


HOW EUSTACE LEIGH 


‘ He may shame me, Sir, but he will -never frighten me,’ 
quoth Yeo ; ‘ but the bog, Captains ? ’ 

‘ Tut ! Devonshire men, and heath-trotters born, and not 
know our way over a peat-moor ! ’ 

And the three strode away. 

They splashed and scrambled for some quarter of a mile to 
the knoll, while the cry became louder and louder as they 
neared. 

‘ That’s neither ghost nor otter. Sirs, but a true Irish howl, as 
Captain Leigh said ; and I’ll warrant Master Shamus knew as 
much long ago,’ said Yep. 

And in fact, they could now hear plainly the ‘ Ochone, 
Ochonorie,’ of some wild -woman; and scrambling over the 
boulders of the knoll, in another, minute came full upon her. 

She was a young girl, sluttish and unkempt, of course, but 
fair enough ; her only covering, as usual, was the ample yellow 
mantle. There she sat upon a stone, tearing her black dis- 
hevelled hair, and every now and then throwing up her head, 
and bursting into a long mournful cry, ‘ for all the world,’ as Yeo 
said, Mike a dumb four-footed hound, and not a Christian soul.’ 

On her knees lay the head of a man of middle age, in the 
long soutane of a Romish priest. One look at the attitude of 
his limbs told them that he was dead. 

The two paused in awe ; and Raleigh’s spirit, susceptible of 
all poetical images, felt keenly that strange scene, — the bleak 
and bitter sky, the shapeless bog, the stunted trees, the savage 
girl alone with the corpse in that utter desolation. And, as she 
bent her head over the still face, and called wildly to him who 
heard her not, and then, utterly unmindful of the intruders, sent 
up again that dreary wail into the dreary air, they felt a sacred 
horror, which almost made them turn away, and leave her un- 
questioned : but Yeo, whose nerves were of tougher fibre, asked 
quietly, 

‘ Shall I go and search the fellow. Captain } ’ 

‘ Better, I think,’ said Amyas. 

Raleigh went gently to the girl, and spoke to her in English. 
She looked up at him, his armor and his plume, with wide and 
wondering eyes, and then shook her head, and returned to her 
lamentation. 

Raleigh gently laid his hand on her arm, and lifted her up, 
while Yeo and Amyas bent over the corpse. 

It was the body of a large and coarse-featured man : but 
wasted and shrunk as if by famine to a very skeleton. The 
hands and legs were cramped up, and the trunk bowed together, 
as if the man had died of cold or famine. Yeo drew buck the 


MET THE pope’s LEGATE. 


221 


clothes from the thin bosom, while the girl screamed and wept, 
but made no effort to stop him. 

‘ Ask her who it is, Yeo ; you know a little Irish,’ said 
Amyas. 

He asked, but the girl made no answer. ‘ The stubborn jade 
won’t tell of course, Sir. If she were but a man, I’d make her 
soon enough.’ 

‘ Ask her who killed him ? ’ 

‘ No one,’ she says ; ‘ and I believe she says true, for I can 
find no wound. The man has been starved. Sirs, as I am a 
sinful man. God help him, though he is a priest ; and yet he 
seems full enough down below. What’s here ? A big pouch. 
Sirs, stuffed full of somewhat.’ 

‘ Hand it hither.’ 

The two opened the pouch ; papers, papers, but no scrap of 
food. Tiien a parchment. They unrolled it. 

‘Latin,’ said Amyas; ‘ you must construe, Don Scholar.’ 

‘ Is it possible ? ’ said Raleigh, after reading a moment. 

‘ This is indeed a prize ! This is Saunders himself! ’ 

Yeo sprang up from the body as if he had touched an adder. 

‘ Nick Saunders, the Legacy, Sir ? ’ 

‘ Nicholas Saunders, the Legate.’ 

‘The villain I Why did not he wait for me to have the com- 
fort of killing him.? Dog!’ and he kicked the corpse with 
his foot. 

‘Quiet! quiet! Remember the poor girl,’ said Amyas, as 
she shrieked at the profanation, while Raleigh went on, half to 
himself. ‘ Yes, this is Saunders. Misguided fool, and this is 
tl>e end ! To this thou hast come with thy plotting and thy 
conspiring, thy lying and thy boasting, consecrated banners and 
Pope’s bulls, Agnus Deis and holy waters, the blessing of all 
saints and angels, and thy Lady of the immaculate conception ! 
Thou hast called on the Heavens to judge between thee and us, 
and here is their answer! What is that in his hand, Amyas 
Give it me. A pastoral epistle to the Earl of Ormond, and all 
nobles of the realm of Ireland ; “ To all who groan beneath the 
loathsome tyranny of an illegitimate adulteress, &c., Nicholas 
Saunders, by the grace of God, Legate,” &;c. Bah ! and this 
forsooth w'as thy last meditation ! Incorrigible pedant ! Victrix 
causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoni ! ’ 

He ran his eye through various other documents, written in 
the usual strain : full of huge promises from the Pope and the 
King of Spain ; frantic and filthy slanders against Elizabeth, 
Burghley, Leicester, Essex, Sidney, and every great and good 
man (never mind of which party) who then upheld the common- 


222 


HOW EUSTACE LEIGH 


weal ; bombastic attempts to terrify weak consciences, by de- 
nouncing endless fire against those who opposed the true faith ; 
fulsome ascriptions of martyrdom and sanctity to every rebel 
and traitor who had been hanged for the last twenty years; 
wearisome arguments about the bull In Coena Domini, Eliza- 
beth’s excommunication, the nullity of English law, the sacred 
duty of rebellion, the right to kill a prince impenitently heretical, 
and the like insanities and villanies, which may be read at large 
in Camden, the Phoenix Britannicus, Fox’s Martyrs, or, surest 
of all, in the writings of the worthies themselves. 

With a gesture of disgust, Raleigh crammed the foul stuff 
back again into the pouch. Taking it with them they walked 
back to the company, and then remounting, marched away 
once more towards the lands of the Desmonds ; and the girl was 
left alone with the dead. 

An hour had passed, when another Englishman was standing 
by the wailing girl, and round him a dozen shock-headed kernes, 
skene on thigh and javelin in hand, were tossing about their 
tawny rags, and adding their lamentations to those of the lonely 
watcher. 

The Englishman was Eustace Leigh ; a layman still, but still 
at his old work. By two years of intrigue and labor from one 
end of Ireland to the other, he had been trying to satisfy his con- 
science for rejecting ‘the higher calling ’ of the celibate; for 
mad hopes still lurked within that fiery heart. His brow was 
wrinkled now ; his features harshened ; the scar upon his face, 
and the slight distortion which accompanied it, was hidden by a 
bushy beard from all but himself ; and he never forgot it for a 
day, nor forgot who had given it to him. 

He had been with Desmond, wandering in moor and moss for 
many a month in danger of his life ; and now he was on his 
way to James Fitz-Eustace, Lord Ballinglas, to bring him the 
news of Desmond’s death ; and with him a remnant of the clan, 
who were either too stout-hearted, or too desperately stained 
with crinae, to seek peace from the English, and, as their fellows 
did, find it at once and freely. 

There Eustace stood, looking down on all that was left of the 
most sacred personage of Ireland ; the man who, as he once 
had hoped, was to regenerate his native land, and bring the 
proud island of the west once more beneath that gentle yoke, in 
which united Christendom labored for the commonweal of the 
universal church. There he was, and with him all Eustace’s 
dreams, in the very heart of that country which he had vowed, 
and believed as he vowed, was ready to rise in arms as one 
man, even to the baby at the breast (so he had said), in yen- 


MET THE pope’s LEGATE. 


223 


geance against the Saxon heretic, and sweep the hated name 
of Englishman into the deepest abysses of the surge which 
walled her coasts ; with Spain and the Pope to back him, and 
the wealth of the Jesuits at his command ; in the midst of 
faithful Catholics, valiant soldiers, noblemen who had pledged 
themselves to die for the cause, serfs who 'worshipped him as a 
demigod — starved to death in a bog ! It was a pretty plain 
verdict on the reasonableness of his expectations ; but not to 
Eustace Leigh. 

It was a failure, of course ; but it was an accident ; indeed, to 
have been expected, in a wicked world whose prince and mas- 
ter, as all knew, was the devil himself; indeed, proof of the 
righteousness of the cause — for when had the true faith been 
other than persecuted and trampled under foot ? If one came 
to think of it with eyes purified from the tears of carnal impa- 
tience, what was it but a glorious martyrdom ? 

‘ Blest Saunders ! ’ murmured Eustace Leigh ; ‘ let me die 
the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his ! 
Ora pro me, most excellent martyr, while I dig thy grave upon 
this lonely moor, to wait there for thy translation to one of those 
stately shrines, which, cemented by the blood of such as thee, 
shall hereafter rise restored toward heaven, to make this land 
once more “ The Isle of Saints.” ’ 

The corpse was buried ; a few prayers said hastily ; and 
Eustace Leigh was away again, not now to find Baltinglas ; 
for it was more than his life was worth. The girl had told him 
of the English soldiers who had passed, and he knew that they 
would reach the earl probably before he did. The game was 
up ; all was lost. So he retraced his steps, as a desperate 
resource, to the last place where he would be looked for ; and 
after a month of disguising, hiding, and other expedients, found 
himself again in his native county of Devon, while Fitz-Eustace 
Viscount Baltinglas had taken ship for Spain, having got little 
by his famous aigument to Ormond in behalf of his joining the 
Church of Rome, ‘ Had not thine ancestor, blessed Thomas of 
Canterbury, died for the Church of Rome, thou hadst never 
been Earl of Ormond.’ The premises were certainly sounder 
than those of his party were wont to be ; for it was to expiate 
the murder of that turbulent hero that the Ormond lands had 
been granted by Henry II. ; but as for the conclusion therefrom, 
it was much on a par with the rest. 

And now let us return to Raleigh and Amyas, as they jog 
along their weary road. They have many things to talk of ; 
for it is but three days since they met. 


224 


HOW EUST/.CE LEIGH 


Amyas, as you see, is coming fast into Raleigh’s old opinion 
of Ireland. Raleigh, under the inspiration of a possible grant 
of Desmond’s lands, looks on bogs and rocks transfigured by 
his own hopes and fancy, as if by the glory of a rainbow. He 
looked at all things so, noble fellow, even thirty years after, 
when old, worn out, and ruined ; well for him had it been other- 
wise, and his heart had grown old with his head ! Amyas, who 
knows nothing about Desmond’s lands, is puzzled at the 
change. 

‘ Why, what is this, Raleigh ? You are like children sitting 
in the market-place, and nothing pleases you. You wanted to 
get to court, and you have got there; and are lord and master, 
I hear, or something very like it, already — and as soon as for- 
tune stuffs your mouth full of sweetmeats, do you turn informer 
on her'.? ’ 

Raleigh laughed significantly : but was silent. 

‘ And how is your friend, Mr. Secretary Spenser, who was 
with us at Smerwick ? ’ 

‘ Spenser ? He has thriven even as I have ; and he has 
found, as I have, that in making one friend at court you make 
ten foes ; but “ Oderint dum metuant ” is no more my motto than 
his, Leigh. I want to be great — great I am already, they 
say, if princes’ favor can swell the frog into an ox ; but I want 
to be liked, loved — I want to see people smile when I enter.’ 

‘ So they do. I’ll warrant,’ said Amyas. 

‘ So do hyenas,’ said Raleigh, ‘ grin because they are hungry, 
and I may throw them a bone; I’ll throw you one now, old 
lad, or rather a good sirloin of beef, for the sake of your smile. 
That’s honest, at least. I’ll warrant, whosoever’s else is not. 
Have you heard of my brother Humphrey’s new project.? ’ 

‘ How should I hear anything in this waste, howling wilder- 
ness .? ’ 

‘ Kiss hands to the wilderness then, and come with me to 
Newfoundland ! ’ 

‘ You to Newfoundland .? ’ 

‘ Yes. I to Newfoundland, unless my little matter here is 
settled at once. Gloriana don’t know it, and shan’t till I’m off. 
She’d send me to the Tower, I think, if she caught me playing 
-truant. I could hardly get leave to come hither ; but I must 
out, and try my fortune. I am over ears in debt already, and 
sick of courts and courtiers. Humphrey must go next spring 
and take possession of his kingdom, beyond seas, or his patent 
expires ; and with him I go, and you too, my circumnavigating 
giant.’ 


MET THE pope’s LEGATE. 


225 


And then Raleigh expounded to Amyas the details of the 
great Newfoundland scheme, which whoso will may read in 
the pages of Hakluyt. 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Raleigh’s half-brother, held a patent 
for ‘ planting ’ the lands of Newfoundland and ‘ Meta Incog- 
nita ’ (Labrador). He had attempted a voyage thither with 
Raleigh in 1578, whereof I never could find any news, save 
that he came back again, after a heavy brush with some Spanish 
ships (in which his best captain, Mr. Morgan, was killed), hav- 
ing done nothing, and much impaired his own estate ; but now 
he had collected a large sum ; Sir Gilbert Peckham of London, 
Mr. Hayes of South Devon, and various other gentlemen, of 
whom more hearafter, had adventured their money ; and a 
considerable colony was to be sent out the next year, with 
miners, assayers, and, what was more, Parmenius Budseus, 
Frank’s old friend, who had come to England full of thirst to 
see the wonders of the New World ; and over and above this, 
as Raleigh told Amyas in strictest secrecy, Adrian Gilbert, 
Humphrey’s brother, was turning every stone at court for a 
patent of discovery in the north-west ; and this Newfoundland 
colony, though it was to produce gold, silver, merchandise and 
what not, was but a basis of operations, a half-way house from 
whence to work out the north-west passage to the Indies — that 
golden dream, as fatal to English valor as the Guiana one to 
Spanish — and yet hardly, hardly to be regretted, when we 
remember the seamanship, the science, the chivalry, the hero- 
ism, unequalled in the history of the English nation, which it 
has called forth among those of our later Arctic voyagers, who 
have combined the knight-errantry of the middle age with the 
practical prudence of the modern, and dared for duty more 
than Cortez or Pizarro dared for gold. 

Amyas, simple fellow, took all in greedily; he knew enough 
of the dangers of the Magellan passage to appreciate the bound- 
less value of a road to the East Indies which would (as all 
supposed then) save half the distance, and be, as it were, a 
private possession of the English, safe from Spanish interfer- 
ence ; and he listened reverently to Sir Humphrey’s quaint 
proofs, half true, half fantastic, of such a passage, which 
Raleigh detailed to him — of the Primum Mobile, and its diur- 
nal motion from east to west, in obedience to which the sea- 
current flowed westward ever round the Cape of Good Hope, 
and being unable to pass through the narrow strait between 
South America and the Antarctic continent, rushed up the 
American shore, as the Gulf Stream, and poured north-west- 
ward between Greenland and Labrador towards Cathay and 


526 


now EUSTACE LEIGH 


India; of that most crafty argument of Sir Humphrey’s — how 
Aristotle in his book De Mundo, and Simon Gryneus in his 
annotations thereon, declare that the world (the Old World) is 
an island, compassed by that which Homer calls the river 
Oceanus ; ergo, the New World is an island also, and there is 
a north-west passage ; of the three brothers (names unknown) 
who had actually made the voyage, and named what was after- 
wards called Davis’s Strait, after themselves ; of the- Indians 
who were cast ashore in Germany in the reign of Frederic 
Barbarossa, who as Sir Humphrey had learnedly proved per 
modum tollendi^ could have come only by the north-west ; and 
above all, of Salvaterra the Spaniard, who, in 1568,. had told 
Sir Henry Sidney (Philip’s father), there in Ireland, how he 
had spoken with a Mexican friar named Urdaneta, who had 
himself come from Mar del Zur (the Pacific) into Germany by 
that very north-west passage ; at which last Amyas shook his 
head, and said that friars were liars, and seeing believing ; ‘ but 
if you must needs have an adventure, you insatiable soul you, 
why not try the golden city of Manoa ? ’ 

‘ Manoa ? ’ asked Raleigh, ^vho had heard, as most had, dim 
rumors of the place. ‘ What do you know of it ? ’ 

Whereon Amyas told him all that he had gathered from the 
Spaniard ; and Raleigh, in his turn, believed every word. 

‘Humph!’ said he, after a long silence. ‘To find that 
golden Emperor ; offer him help and friendship from the Queen 
of England ; defend him against the Spaniards ;^Sif we became 
strong enough, conquer back all Peru from the Popish tyrants, 
and reinstate him on the throne of the Incas, with ourselves for 
his body-guard, as the Norman Varangians were to the effemi- 
nate Emperors of Byzant — He)’^, Amyas ? You would make 
a gallant chieftain of Varangs. We’ll do it, lad ! ’ 

‘ We’ll try,’ said Amyas ; ‘ but we must be quick, for there’s 
one Berreo sworn to carry out the quest to the death ; and if 
the Spaniards once get thither, their plan of works will be 
much more like Pizzaro’s than like yours ; and by the time we 
come, there will be neither gold nor city left.’ 

‘ Nor Indians, either. I’ll warrant the butchers ; but, lad, I am 
promised to Humphrey ; I have a bark fitting out already, and 
all I have, and more, adventured in her ; so Manoa must 
wait.’ 

‘ It will wait well enough, if the Spaniards q)rosper no better 
on the Amazon than they have done ; but must I come with 
you ? To tell the truth, I am quite shore-sick, and to sea I 
must go. What will my mother say ? ’ 

‘ I’ll manage thy mother,’ said Raleigh ; and so he did ; for 


MET THE tope’s LEGATE. 


227 


to cut a long story short, he went back the month after, and he 
not only took home letters from Amyas to his mother, but so 
impressed on that good lady the enormous profits and honors to 
be derived from Meta Incognita, and (which was most true) the 
advantage to any young man of sailing with such a general as 
Humphrey Gilbert, most pious and most learned of seamen 
and of cavaliers, beloved and honored above all his compeers 
by Queen Elizabeth, that she consented to Amyas’s adventur- 
ing in the voyage some two hundred pounds which had come 
to him as his share of prize-money, after the ever memorable 
circumnavigation. For Mrs. Leigh, be it understood, was no 
longer at Burrough Court. By Frank’s persuasion, she had let 
the old place, moved up to London with her eldest son, and 
taken for herself a lodging somewhere by Palace Stairs, which 
looked out upon the silver Thames (for Thames was silver 
then), with its busy ferries and gliding boats, across to the 
pleasant fields of Lambeth, and the Archbishop’s Palace, and 
the wooded Surrey hills; and there she spent her peaceful 
days, close to her Frank and to the Court. Elizabeth would 
have had her re-enter it, ofTering her a small place in the house- 
hold ; but she declined, saying that she was too old and heart- 
weary for aught but prayer. So by prayer she lived, under 
the sheltering shadow of the tall minster, where she went morn 
and even to worship, and to entreat for the two in whom her 
heart was bound up; and Frank slipped in every day, if but 
for five minutes, and brought with him Spenser, or Ealeigh, or 
Dyer, or Budasus, or sometimes Sidney’s self ; and there was 
talk of high and holy things, of which none could speak belter 
than could she ; and each guest went from that hallowed room 
a humbler and yet a loftier man. So slipped on the peaceful 
months ; and few and far between came Irish letters, for Ireland 
was then further from Westminster than is the Black Sea now ; 
but those were days in which wives and mothers had learned 
(as they have learned once more, sweet souls !) to walk by 
faith, and not by sight, for those they love ; and Mrs. Leigh 
was content (though when was she not content.^) to hear that 
Amyas was winning a good report as a brave and prudent 
officer, sober, just, and fiiithful, beloved and obeyed alike by 
English soldiers and Irish kernes. 

Those two years and the one which followed were the hap- 
piest which she had known since her husband’s death. But the 
cloud was coming fast up the horizon, though she saw it not. 
A little longer, and the sun would be hid for many a wintry 


•228 


HO'W EUSTACE LEIGH 


Amyas went to Plymouth (with Yeo,of course, at his heels), 
and there beheld for the first time, the majestic countenance of 
the philosopher of Compton Castle. He lodged with Drake, 
and found him not over-sanguine as to the success of the 
voyage. 

‘ For learning and manners, Amyas, there’s not his equal ; 
and the Queen may well. love him, and Devon be proud of 
him ; but book-learning is not business ; book-learning didn’t 
get me round the world ; book-learning didn’t make Captain 
Havvkins, nor his father, neither, the best ship-builders from 
Hull to' Cadiz; and book-learning, I very much fear, won’t 
plant Newfoundland.’ 

However, the die was cast, and the little fleet of five sail 
assembled in Cawsand Bay. Amyas was to go as a gentleman 
adventurer on board of Raleigh’s bark ; Raleigh himself, how- 
ever, at the eleventh hour, had been forbidden by the Queen to 
leave England. Ere they left. Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s picture 
was painted by some Plymouth artist, to be sent up to Elizabeth 
in answer to a letter and gift sent by Raleigh, which, as a 
specimen of the men and of the time, I here transcribe : — 

Brother, — I have sent you a token from her Majesty, 
an anchor guided by a lady, as you see. And further,*her 
Highness willed me to send you word, that she wisheth you as 
great good hap and safety to your ship as if she were there in 
person, desiring you to have care of yourself as of that which 
she tendercth ; and, therefore, for her sake, you must provide 
for it accordingly. Furthermore, she commandeth that you 
leave your picture with her. For the rest I leave till our meet- 
ing or to the report of the bearer, who would needs be the 
messenger of this good news. So I commit you to the will and 
protection of (jod, who send us such life and death as he shall 
please, or hath appointed. 

Richmond, this Friday morning, 

Your true Brother, 

VV. Raleigh. 

‘ Who would not die. Sir, for such a woman ? ’ said Sir 
Humphrey (and he said truly), as he showed that letter to 
Amyas. 

‘ Who would not ? But she bids you rather live for her.’ 

‘ I shall do both, young man ; and for God, too, 1 trust. We 

* This letter was, a few years since, in the possession of Mr. Pomeroy • 
Gilbert, fort-major at Ijartmouth, a descendant of the Admiral’s. 


MET THE pope’s LEGATE. 


229 


are going in God’s cause ; we go for the honor of God’s Gos- 
pel ; for the deliverance of poor infidels led captive by the 
devil ; for the relief of my distressed countrymen unemployed 
within this narrow .isle ; and to God we commit our cause. VVe 
fight against the devil himself ; and stronger is He that is with 
us than he that is against us.’ 

Some say that Raleigh himself came down to Plymouth, 
accompanied the fleet a day’s sail to sea, and would have given 
her Majesty the slip, and gone with them Westward ho, but for 
Sir Plumphrey’s advice. It is likely enough ; but I cannot find 
evidence for it. At all events, on the 11th June the fleet sailed 
out, having, says Mr. Mayes, Gn number about two hundred 
and sixty men, among whom we had of every faculty good 
choice, as shipwrights, masons, carpenters, smiths, and such 
like, requisite for such an action ; also mineral men and re- 
finers. Beside, for solace of our people and allurement of 
the savages, we were provided of musique in good variety ; 
not omitting the least toys, as morris-dancers, hobby-horses, and 
May-like conceits, to delight the savage people, whom we in- 
tended to win by all fair means possible.’ An armament com- 
plete enough, even to that tenderness toward the Indians, which 
is so striking a feature of the Elizabethan seamen (called out 
in them, perhaps, by horror at the Spanish cruelties, as well as 
by their more liberal creed), and to the daily service of God 
on board of every ship, according to the simple old instructions 
of Captain John Hawkins to one of his little squadrons, ‘ Keep 
good company; beware of fire; serve God daily; and love 
one another,’ — an armament, in short, complete in all but 
men. The sailors had been picked up hastily and anywhere, 
and soon proved themselves a mutinous, and, in the case of the 
bark Swallow, a piratical set. The mechanics were little better. 
The gentlemen adventurers, puffed up with vain hopes of find- 
ing a new Mexico, became soon disappointed and surly at the 
hard practical reality; while over all was*the head of^ a sage 
and an enthusiast, a man too noble to suspect others, and too 
pure to make allowances for poor dirty human weaknesses. 
He had got his scheme perfect upon paper; well for him, and 
for his company, if he had asked Francis Drake to translate it 
for him into fact ! As early as the second day, the seeds of 
failure began to sprout above ground. The men of Raleigh’s 
bark, the Vice-Admiral, suddenly found themselves seized, or 
su[)posed themselves seized, with a contagious sickness, and at 
midnight forsook the fleet, and went back to Plymouth ; whereto 
Mr. Hayes can only say, ‘ The reason I never could understand. 

20 


230 now EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE’s LEGATE. 

Sure I am that Mr. Raleigh spared no cost in setting them forth. 
And so I leave it unto God ! ’ 

But Amyas said more. He told Butler, the captain, plainly, 
that if the bark went back, he would not ; that he had seen 
enough of ships deserting their consorts; that it should never 
be said of him that he had followed Winter’s example, and 
that, too, on a fair easterly wind ; and finally, that he had seen 
Doughty hanged ^for trying to play such a trick, and that he 
might see others hanged, too, before he died. Whereon Cap- 
tain Butler offered to draw and fight, to which Amyas showed 
no repugnance ; whereon the captain, having taken a second 
look at Amyas’s thews and sinews, reconsidered the matter, 
and offered to put Amyas on board of Sir Humphrey’s Delight, 
if he could find a crew to row him. 

Amyas looked round. 

‘ Are there any of Sir Francis Drake’s men on board ? ’ 

‘ Three, Sir,’ said Yeo. ‘ Robert Drew, and two others.’ 

‘ Pelicans ! ’ roared Amyas, ‘ you have been round the world, 
and will you turn back from Westward ho ? ’ 

There was a moment’s silence, and then Drew came for- 
ward. 

‘ Lower us a boat, captain, and lend us a caliver to make 
signals with, while I get my kit on deck ; I’ll after Captain 
Leigh, if I row him aboard all alone to my own hands.’ 

‘ If I ever command a ship, I will not forget you,’ said 
Amyas. 

‘ Nor us either, Sir, we hope ; for we haven’t forgotten you 
and your honest conditions,’ said both the other Pelicans ; and 
so away over the side went all the five, and pulled away after 
the admiral’s lantern, firing shots at intervals as signals. Luck- 
ily for the five desperadoes, the night was all burcalrn. They 
got on board before the morning, and so away into the bound- 
less West.^' 


* The Raleigh, the largest ship of .the squadron, was of only 200 tons 
burthen; The Golden Hind, Hayes’s sliip, which returned safe, of 40; 
and the Squirrel (whereof more hereafter), of 10 tons! In such cock- 
boats did these old heroes brave the unknown seas. 


HOW BIDEFOED BRIDGE DINED At' ANNERY HOUSE. 231 


CHAPTER XII. ' 

HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 

* Three lords sat drinking late yestreen, 

And ere they paid the lawing, 

They set a combat them between, 

To fight it in the dawing.’ 

Scotch Ballad. 

Every one who knows Bideford, cannot but know Bideford 
Bridge ; for it is the very omphalos, cynosure, and soul, around 
which the town, as a body, has organized itself ; and as Edin- 
burgh is Edinburgh by virtue of its Castle, Rome Rome by 
virtue of its Capitol, and Egypt Egypt by virtue of its Pyra- 
mids, so is Bidefbrd Bideford by virtue of its Bridge. But all do 
not know the occult powers which have advanced and animated 
the said wondrous bridge for now five hundred years, and made it 
the chief wonder, according to Prince and Fuller, of this fair land 
of Devon : being first an inspired bridge ; a soul-saving bridge ; 
an alms-giving bridge ; an educational bridge ; a sentient bridge ; 
and last, but not least, a dinner-giving bridge. All do not know 
how, when it began to be built some half mile higher up, hands 
invisible carried the stones down-stream each night to the pres- 
ent site ; until Sir Richard Gurney, parson of the parish, going 
to bed one night in sore perplexity, and fear of the evil spirit 
who seemed so busy in his sheep-fold, beheld a vision of an 
angel, who hade build the bridge where he himself had so 
kindly transported the materials ; for there alone was sure 
foundation amid the broad sheet of shifting sand. All do not 
know how Bishop Grandison of Exeter proclaimed throughout 
his diocese indulgences, benedictions, and ‘ participation in all 
spiritual blessings for ever,’ to all who would promote the bridg- 
ing of that dangerous ford ; and so, consulting alike the inter- 
ests of their souls and of their bodies, ‘ make the best of both 
worlds.’ 

All do not know, nor do I, that ‘ though the foundation of the 
bridge is laid upon wool, yet it shakes at the slightest step of a 


232 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


horse ; ’ or that, ‘ though it has twenty-three arches, yet one 
\Vm. Alford (another Milo) carried on his back for a wager 
four bushels salt-water measure, all the length thereof ; ’ or 
that the bridge is a veritable esquire, bearing arms of its own 
(a ship and bridge proper on a plain field), and owning lands 
and tenements in many parishes, with which the said miracu- 
lous bridge has, from time to time, founded charities, built 
schools, waged suits at law, and finally (for this concerns us 
most) given yearly dinners, and kept for that purpose (luxurious 
and liquorish bridge that it was) the best stocked cellar of wines 
in all Devon. 

To one of these dinners, as it happened, were invited in the 
year 1583, all the notabilities of Bideford, and beside them Mr. 
St. Leger of Annery close by, brother of the Marshal of Mun- 
ster and of Lady Grenvile ; a most worthy and hospitable 
gentleman, who, finding riches a snare, parted with them so 
freely to all his neighbors as long as he lived, that he effectually 
prevented his children after him from falling into the temptations 
thereunto incident. 

Between him and one of the bridge trustees arose an argu- 
ment, whether a salmon caught below the bridge was better or 
worse than one caught above ; and as that weighty question 
could only be decided by practical experiment, Mr. St. Leger 
vowed, that as the bridge had given him a good dinner, he 
would give the bridge one ; offered a bet of five pounds, that he 
would find them, out of the pool below Annery, as firm and 
flaky a salmon as the Appledore one which they had just eaten ; 
and then, in the fulness of his heart, invited the whole company 
present to dine with him at Annery three days after, and bring 
with them each a wife or daughter ; and, Don Guzman being 
at table, he was invited too. 

So there was a mighty feast in the great hall at Annery, such 
as had seldom been since Judge Hankford feasted Edward the 
Fourth there ; and while every one was eating their best, and 
drinking their worst. Rose Salterne and Don Guzman were 
pretending not to see each other, and watching each other all 
the more. But Rose at least had to be very careful of her 
glances ; for not only was her father at the table, but just oppo- 
site her sate none other than Messrs. William Cary and Arthur 
St. Leger, Lieutenants in her Majesty’s Irish army, who had 
returned on furlough a few days before. 

Rose Salterne and the Spaniard had not exchanged a word 
in the last six months, though they had met many times. The 
Spaniard by no means avoided her company, except in her 
father’s house ; he only took care to obey her carefully, by 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


233 


seeming always unconscious of her presence, beyond the state- 
liest of salutes at entering and departing. But he took care, at 
^ the same time, to lay himself out to the very best advantage 
whenever he was in her presence ; to be more witty, more elo- 
quent, more romantic, more full of wonderful tales than he 
ever yet had been. The cunning Don had found himself foiled 
in his first tactic ; and he was now trying another, and a far 
more formidable one. In the first place. Rose deserved a very 
severe punishment, for having dared to refuse the love of a 
Spanish nobleman ; and what greater punishment could he in- 
flict than withdrawing the honor of his attentions, and the sun- 
shine of his smiles ? There was conceit enough in that notion, 
but there was cunning too ; for none knew better than the 
Spaniard, that women, like the world, are pretty sure to value a 
man (especially if there be any real worth in him) at his own 
price ; and that the more he demands for himself, the more they 
will give for him. 

And now he would put a high price on himself, and pique 
her pride, as she was too much accustomed to worship, to be 
won by flattering it. He might have done that by paying atten- 
tion to some one else : but he was too wise to employ so coarse 
a method, which might raise indignation, or disgust, or despair, 
in Rose’s heart, but would have never brought her to his feet — 
as it will never bring any woman worth bringing. So he quietly 
and unobtrusively showed her that he could do without her; 
and she, poor fool, as she was meant to do, began forthwith to 
ask herself — why ? What was the hidden treasure, what was 
the reserve force, which made him independent of her, while 
she could not say that she was independent of him ? Had he 
a secret ? how pleasant to know it ! Some huge ambition 
how pleasant to share in it ! Some mysterious knowledge ? 
how pleasant to learn it ! Some capacity of love beyond the 
common ? how delicious to have it all for her own ! He must 
be greater, wiser, richer-hearted than she was, as well as better- 
born. Ah, if this wealth would but supply her poverty! And 
so, step by step, she was being led to sue m forma pauperis to 
the very man whom she had spurned when he sued in like form 
to her. That temptation of having some mysterious private 
treasure, of being the priestess of some hidden sanctuary, and 
beiin? able to thank heaven that she was not as other women 
are, vvas becoming fast too much for Rose, as it is too much for 
most. For none knew better than the Spaniard how much more 
fond women are, by the very law of their sex, of worshipping 
than of being worshipped, and of obeying than of being obeyed ; 
liovv their coyness, often their scorn, is but a mask to hide their 
20 * 


234 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


consciousness of weakness ; and a mask, too, of. which they 
themselves will often be the first to tire. 

And Rose was utterly tired, of that same mask as she sat at» 
table at Annery that day ; and Don Guzman saw it in her 
uneasy and downcast looks, and thinking (conceited coxcomb) 
that she must be by now sufficiently punished, stole a glance at 
her now and then, and was not abashed when he saw that she 
dropped her eyes when they met his, because he saw her silence 
and abstraction increase, and something like a blush steal into 
her cheeks. So he pretended to be as much downcast and 
abstracted as she was, and went on with his glances, till he once 
found her, poor thing, looking at him to see if he was looking 
at her; and then he knew his prey was safe, and asked her, 
with his eyes, ‘ Do you forgive me ? ’ and saw her stop dead in 
her talk to her next neighbor, and falter, and drop her eyes, 
and raise them again after a minute in search of his, that he 
might repeat the pleasant question. And then what could she 
do but answer with all her face, and every bend of her pretty 
neck, ‘ And do you forgive me in turn ? ’ 

Whereon Don Guzman broke out jubilant, like nightingale on 
bough, with story, and jest, and repartee ; and became forth- 
with the soul of the whole company, and the most charming of 
all cavaliers. And poor Rose knew that she was the cause of 
his sudden change of mood, and blamed herself for what she 
had done, and shuddered and blushed at her own delight, and 
longed that the feast was over, that she might hurry home and 
hide herself alone with sweet fancies about a love the reality of 
which she felt she dared not face. 

It was a beautiful sight, the great terrace at Annery that after- 
noon ; with the smart dames in their gaudy dresses parading up 
and down in twos and threes before the stately house ; or look- 
ing down upon the park, with the old oaks, and the deer, and 
the broad landlocked river spread out like a lake beneath, all 
bright in the glare of the midsummer sun ; or listening obse- 
quiously to the two great ladies who did the honors, Mrs. St. 
Leger the hostess, and her sister-in-law, fair Lady Grenvile. 
All chatted, and laughed, and eyed each other’s dresses, and 
gossiped about ea'ch other’s husbands and servants : only Rose 
Salterne kept apart, and longed to get into a corner and laugh 
or cry, she knew not which. 

‘Our pretty Rose seems sad,’ said Lady Grenvile, coming 
up to her. ‘ Cheer up, child ! we want you to come and sing 
to us.’ 

Rose answered she knew not what, and obeyed mechanically. 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


235 


She took the lute, and sat down on a bench beneath the 
house, while the rest grouped themselves round her. 

‘ What shall I sing ? ’ 

‘ Let us have your old song, “ Earl Haldan’s Daughter.” ’ 

Rose shrank from it. It was a loud and dashing ballad, 
which chimed in but little with her thoughts ; and Frank had 
praised it, too, in happier days, long since gone by. She 
thought of him, and of others, and of her pride and careless- 
ness ; and the song seemed ominous to her : and yet for that 
very reason she dared not refuse to sing it, for fear of sus- 
picion where no one suspected ; and so she began per force — 

1 . 

It was Earl Haldan’s daughter 
She look’d across the sea ; 

She look’d across the water, 

And long and loud laugh’d she : 

* The locks of six princesses 
Must be my marriage- fee, 

»So hey bonny boat, and ho bony boat ! 

Who comes a-wooing me ! ’ 

2 . 

It was Earl Haldah’s daughter, 

She walked along the sand ; 

When she was aware of a knight so fair. 

Come sailing to the land. 

His sails were all of velvet. 

His mast of beaten gold, 

And ‘hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat, 

Who saileih here so bold ? ’ 


3 . 

‘The locks of five princesses 
I won beyond the sea ; \ 

I shore their golden tresses, 

To fringe a cloak for thee. 

One handfull yet is wanting, 

But one of all the tale ; 

So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat ! 
Furl up thy velvet sail ! ’ 

4 . 

He leapt into the water. 

That rover young and bold ; 

He gript Earl Haldan’s daughter. 

He shore her locks of gold ; 

‘ Go weep, go weep, proud maiden, 
The tale is full to-day. 

Now hey bonny boat, and ho bony boat ! 
Sail Westward ho, and away ! ’ 


236 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


As she ceased, a measured voice, with a foreign accent, 
thrilled through her. 

‘ In the East, they say the nightingale sings to the rose ; 
Devon, more happy, has nightingale and rose in one.’ 

‘ We have no nightingales in Devon, Don Guzman : ’ said 
Lady Grenvile ; ‘ but our little forest thrushes sing, as you 
hear, sweetly enough to content any ear. But what brings you 
away from the gentlemen so early .? ’ 

‘ These letters,’ said he, ‘ which have just been put into my 
hand ; and as they call me home to Spain, I was loth to lose a 
moment of that delightful company from which I must part so 
soon.’ 

‘ To Spain ? ’ asked half-a-dozen voices ; for the Don was a 
general favorite. 

‘ Yes, and thence to the Indies. My ransom has arrived, and 
with it the promise of an office. I am to be Governor of La 
Guayra in Caraccas. Congratulate me on my promotion.’ 

A mist was 'over Rose’s eyes. The Spaniard’s voice was 
hard and flippant. Did he care for her, after vlWJ And if he 
did, was it not nevertheless hopeless ? How her cheeks glowed ? 
Everybody must see it! Anything to turn away their attention 
from her ; and in that nervous haste which makes people speak, 
and speak foolishly too, just because they ought to be silent, she 
asked, — 

‘ And where is La Guayra ? ’ 

‘ Half round the world, on the coast of the Spanish Main. 
The loveliest place on earth, and the loveliest governor’s house, 
in a forest of palms at the foot of a mountain eight thousand 
feet high : I shall only want a wife there to be in paradise.’ 

‘ I don’t doubt that you may persuade som^ fair lady of 
Seville to accompany you thither,’ said Lady Grenvile. 

‘ Thanks, gracious Madam : but the truth is, that since I have 
had the bliss of knowing English ladies, I have begun to think 
that they are the only ones on earth worth wooing.’ 

‘ A thousand thanks for the compliment ; but I fear none of 
our free English maidens would like to submit to the guardian- 
ship of a duenna. Eh, Rose ? how should you like to be kept 
under lock and key all day by an ugly old woman with a horn 
on her forehead ? ’ * 

Poor Rose turned so scarlet that Lady Grenvile knew her 
secret on the spot, and would have tried to turn the conversa- 
tion ; but before she could speak, some burgher’s wife blundered 
out a commonplace about the jealousy of Spanish husbands ; 
and another, to make matters better, giggled out something 


dined at annery house. 237 

more true than delicate about West Indian Masters and fair 
slaves. 

‘ Ladies,’ said Don Guzman, reddening, ‘ believe me that 
these are but the calumnies of ignorance. If we be more 
jealous than other nations, it is because we love more passion- 
ately. If some of us abroad are profligate, it is because they, 
poor men, have no helpmate, which, like the amethyst, keeps 
Its wearer pure. I could tell you stories, ladies, of the con- 
stancy and devotion of Spanish husbands, even in the Indies, as 
strange as ever romancer invented.’ 

‘ Can you ? Then we challenge you to give us one at least.’ 

‘ I fear it would be too long. Madam.’ 

‘ The longer the more pleasant, Senor. How can we spend 
an hour better'lhis afternoon, while the gentlemen within are 
finishing their wine ? ’ 

Story-telling, in those old times, when books (and authors 
also, luckily for the public) were rarer than now, was a common 
amusement ; and as the Spaniard’s accomplishments in that line 
were well known, all the ladies crowded round him ; the servants 
brought chairs and benches ; and Don Guzman, taking his seat 
in the midst, with a proud humility, at Lady Grenvile’s feet, 
began : — 

‘ Your perfections, fair and illustrious ladies, must doubtless 
have heard, ere now, how Sebastian Cabota some forty-five 
years ago, sailed forth with a commission from my late master, 
the Emperor Charles the Fifth, to discover the golden lands of 
Tarshish, Ophir, and Cipango : but being in want of provisions, 
stopped short at the mouth of that mighty South American river 
to which he gave the name of Rio de la Plata, and sailing up it, 
discovered the fair land of Paraguay. But you may not have 
heard how, on the bank of that river, at the mouth of the Rio 
Terceiro, he built a fort which men still call Cabot’s Tower ; 
nor have you, perhaps, heard of the strange tale which will ever 
make the tower a sacred spot to all true lovers. 

‘ For when he returned to Spain the year after, he left in his 
tower a garrison of a hundred and twenty men, under the com- 
mand of Nuno de Lara, Ruiz Moschera, and Sebastian da Hur- 
tado, old friends and fellow-soldiers of my invincible grandfather 
Don Ferdinando de Soto; and with them a jewel, than which 
Spain never possessed one more precious, Lucia Mirandi, the 
wife of Hurtado, who, famed in die Court of the Emperor no 
less for her wisdom and modesty than for her unrivalled beauty, 
had thrown up all the pomp and ambition of a place, to marry 
a poor adventurer, and to encounter with him the hardships of a 
voyage round the world. Mangora, the Cacique of the neigh- 


238 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


boring Timbuez Indians (with whom Lara had contrived to estab- 
lish a friendship), cast his eyes on this fair creature, and no sooner 
saw than he coveted ; no sooner coveted than he plotted, with 
the devilish subtilty of a savage, to seize by force what he knew 
he could never gain by right. She soon found out his passion 
(she was wise enough — what every woman is not — to know 
when she is loved), and telling her husband, kept as much as 
she could out of her new lover’s sight ; while the savage pressed 
Hurtado to come and visit him, and to bring his lady with him. 
Hurtado, suspecting the snare, and yet fearing to offend the 
Cacique, excused himself courteously on the score of his sol- 
dier’s duty ; and the savage, mad with desire and disappoint- 
ment, began plotting against Hurtado’s life. 

‘ So went on several weeks, till food grew scarce, and Don 
Hurtado and Don Ruiz xMoschera, with fifty soldiers, were sent 
up the river on a foraging parly. Mangora saw his opportunity, 
and leapt at it forthwith. 

‘The tower, ladies, as I have heard from those who have 
seen it, stands on a knoll at the meeting of the two rivers, while 
on the land side stretches a dreary marsh, covered with tall grass 
and bushes ; a fit place for the ambuscade of four thousand In- 
dians, which Mangora, with devilish cunning, placed around the 
tower, while he himself went boldly up to it, followed by thirty 
men, laden with grain, fruit, game, and all* the delicacies which 
his forests could afford. 

‘ There, with a smiling face, he told the unsuspecting Lara 
bis sorrow for the Spaniard’s want of food ; besought him to 
accept the provision he had brought, and was, as he had ex- 
pected, invited by Lara to come in and taste the wines of Spain. 

‘ In went he and his thirty fellow-bandits, and the feast con- 
tinued with songs and libations, far into the night, while 
Mangora often looked round, and at last boldly asked for the 
fair Miranda ; but she had shut herself into her lodging, plead- 
ing illness. 

‘ A plea, fair ladies, which little availed that hapless dame : 
for no sooner had the Spaniards retired to rest, leaving (by I 
know not what madness) Mangora and his Indians within, than 
they were awakened by the cry of fire, the explosion of their 
magazine, and the inward rush of the four thousand from the 
marsh outside. 

‘ Why pain your gentle ears with details of slaughter ? A 
few fearful minutes sufficed to exterminate my bewildered and 
unarmed countrymen, to bind the only survivors, Miranda (inno- 
cent cause of the whole tragedy) and four other women with 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


* 239 


their infants, and to lead them away in triumph across the 
forests toward the Indian town. 

‘ Stunned by the suddenness of the evils which had passed, 
and still more by the thought of those worse which were to 
come (as she too well foresaw), Miranda travelled all night 
through the forest, and was brought in triumph at day-dawn 
before the Indian king to receive her doom. Judge of her 
astonishment, when on looking up, she saw that he was not 
M angora. 

‘ A ray of hope flashed across her, and she asked where he 
was. 

‘ “ He was slain last night,” said the king ; “ and I, his 
brother Siripa, am now Cacique of the Timbuez.” 

‘ It was true ; Lara, maddened with drink, rage, and wounds, 
had caught up his sword, rushed into the thick of the fight, 
singled out the traitor, and slain him on the spot ; and then, 
forgetting safety in revenge, had continued to plunge his sword 
into the corpse, heedless of the blows of the savages, till he fell 
pierced with a hundred wounds. 

‘ A ray of hope, as I said, flashed across the wretched Mi- 
randa for a moment; but the next she found that she had been 
freed from one bandit only to be delivered to another. 

‘ “ Yes,” said the new king in broken Spanish ; “ my brother 
played a bold stake, and lost it ; but it was well worth the risk, 
and he showed his wisdom thereby. You cannot be his queen 
now: you must content yourself with being mine.” 

‘ Miranda, desperate, answered him with every fierce taunt 
which she could invent against his treachery and his crime ; and 
asked him, how he came to dream that the wife of a Christian 
Spaniard would condescend to become the mistress of a lieathen 
savage ; hoping, unhappy lady, to exasperate him into killing 
her on the spot. But in vain; she only prolonged thereby her 
own misery. For, whether it was, ladies,, that the novel sight 
of divine virtue and beauty awed (as it may have awed me ere 
now), where it had just before maddened ; or whether some 
dream crossed the savage (as it may have crossed me erenow), 
that he could make the wisdom of a mortal angel help his am- 
bition, as well as her beauty his happiness ; or whether (which 
I will never believe of one of those dark children of the devil, 
though I can boldly assert it of myself) some spark of nobleness 
within made him too proud to lake by force what he could not 
win by persuasion, certain it is, as the Indians themselves con- 
fessed afterwards, that the savage only answered her by smiles ; 
and bidding his men unbind her, told her that she was no slave 
of his, and that it only lay with her to become the sovereign of 


240 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


him and all his vassals ; assigned her a hut to herself, loaded 
her with savage ornaments, and for several weeks, treated her 
with no less courtesy (so miraculous is the power of love) than 
if he had been a cavalier of Castile. 

‘ Three months and more, ladies, as I have heard, passed in 
this misery, and every day Miranda grew more desperate of all 
deliverance, and saw staring her in the face nearer and nearer, 
some hideous and shameful end ; when on,e day, going down 
with the wives of the Cacique to draw water in the river, she 
saw on the opposite bank a white man in a tattered Spanish 
dress, with a drawn sword in his hand ; who had no sooner es- 
pied her, than shrieking her name, he plunged into the stream, 
swam across, landed at her feet, and clasped her in his arms. 
It was no other, ladies, incredible as it may seem, that Don 
Sebastian himself,- who had returned with Ruiz Moschera to the 
tower, and found it only a charred and blood-stained heap of 
ruins. 

‘ He guessed, as by inspiration, what had passed, and whither 
his lady was gone ; and without a thought of danger, like a true 
Spanish gentleman, and a true Spanish lover, darted off alone 
into the forest, and guided only by the inspiration of his own 
loyal heart, found again his treasure, and found it still unstained 
and his own. 

‘ Who can describe the joy, and who again the terror, of 
their meeting ! The Indian women had fled in fear, and for the 
short ten minutes that the lovers were left together, life, be sure, 
was one long kiss. But what to do they knew not. To go 
inland was to rush into the enemy’s arms. He would have 
swum with her across the river, and attempted it ; but his 
strength, worn out with hunger and travel, failed him; he drew 
her with difficulty on shore again, and sat down by her to await 
their doom with prayer, the first and last resource of virtuous 
ladies, as weapons are of cavaliers. 

‘ Alas for them ! May no true lovers ever have to weep over 
joys so soon lost, after having been so hardly found ! For, ere 
a quarter of an hour was passed, the Indian women, who had 
fled at his approach, returned with all the warriors of the tribe. 
Don Sebastian, desperate, would have fain slain his wife and 
himself on the spot : but his hand sank again — and whose 
would not but an Indian’s.? — as he raised it against that fair 
and faithful breast ; in a few minutes he was surrounded, seized 
from behind, disarmed, and C4rried in triumph into the villao-e. 
And if you cannot feel for him in that misery, fair ladies, who 
have known no sorrow, yet I, a prisoner can.’ 

Don Guzman paused a moment, as if overcome by emotion ; 


DINED AT ANNERT HOUSE. 


241 


aud I will not say that, as he paused, he did not look to see if 
Rose Saherne’s eyes were on him, as indeed they were. 

‘ Yes, I can feel with him ; 1 can estimate, better than you, 
ladies, the greatness of that love which could submit to captiv- 
ity ; to the loss of his sw'ord ; to the loss of that honor, which, 
next to God and his mother, is the true Spaniard’s deity. 
There are those who have suffered that shame at the hands of 
valiant gentlemen ’ (and again Don Guzman looked up at Rose), 

* and yet would have sooner died a thousand deaths ; but he 
dared to endure it from the hands of villains, savages, heathens ; 
for he was a true Spaniard, and therefore a true lover : but 1 
will go on with my tale. 

‘ This wretched pair, then, as I have been told by Ruiz Mos- 
chera himself, stood together before the Cacique. He, like a 
true child of the devil, comprehending in a moment who Don 
Sebastian was, laughed with delight at seeing his rival in his 
power, and bade bind him at once to a tree, and shoot him to 
death with arrows. 

‘ But the poor Miranda sprang forward, and threw herself at 
his feet, and with piteous entreaties besought for mercy from 
him who knew no mercy. 

‘ And yet love, and the sight of her beauty, and the terrible ‘ 
eloquence of her words, while she invoked on his head the just 
vengeance of Heaven, wrought even on his heart ; neverthe- 
less tlie pleasure of seeing her, who had so long scorned him, 
a suppliant at his feet, was too delicate to be speedily foregone ; 
and not till she was all but blind with tears, and dumb witli 
agony of pleading, did he make answer, that if she would 
consent to become his wife, her husband’s life should be 
spared. She, in her haste and madness, sobbed out desperately 
I know not what consent. Don Sebastian, who understood, if 
not the language, still the meaning (so had love quickened his 
understanding), shrieked to her not to lose her precious soul 
for the sake of his worthless body ; that death was nothing 
compared to the horror of that shame ; and such other words as 
became a noble and valiant gentleman. She, shuddering now 
at her own frailty, would have recalled her promise, but Siripa 
kept her to it, vowing, if she disappointed him again, such a 
death to her husband as made her blood run cold to hear of ; 
and the wretched woman could only escape for the present by 
some story, that it was not the custom of her race to celebrate 
nuptials till a month after the betrothment that the anger of 
Heaven would be on her unless she first performed in solitude 
certain religious rites ; and lastly, that if he dared to lay 
hands on her husband, she would die so resolutely, that every 
21 


242 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


drop of water should be deep enough to drown her, every thorn 
sharp enough to stab her to the heart; till fearing lest by de- 
manding too much he should lose all, and awed too, as he had 
been at first, by a voice and looks which seemed to be, in com- 
parison with his own, divine, Siripa bade her go back to her hut, 
promising her husband life ; but promising too, that if he. ever 
found the two speaking together, even for a moment, he would 
pour out on them both all the cruelty of those tortures in 
which the devil, their father, has so perfectly instructed the 
Indians. 

‘ So Don Sebastian, being stripped of his garments, and 
painted after the Indian fashion, was set to all mean and toil- 
some work, amid the bufifetings and insults of the whole village. 
And this, ladies, he endured without a murmur, ay, took de- 
light in enduring it, as he would have endured things worse a 
thousand times, only for the sake, like a true lover as he was, of 
being near the goddess whom he worshipped, and of seeing her 
now and then afar off, happy enough to be repaid even by that, 
for all indignities. 

‘ And yet, you who have loved may well guess, as I can, that 
ere a week had passed, Don Sebastian and the Lady Miranda 
had found means, in spite of all spiteful eyes, to speak to each 
other once and again ; and to assure each other of their love ; 
even to talk of escape before the month’s grace should be ex- 
pired. And Miranda, whose heart was full of courage, as long 
as she felt her husbandmear her, went so far as to plan a means 
of escape which seemed possible and hopeful. 

‘ For the youngest wife of the Cacique, who, till Miranda’s 
coming, had been his favorite, often talked with the captive, 
insulting and tormenting her in her spite and jealousy, and 
receiving in return only gentle and conciliatory words. And 
one day, when the woman had been threatening to kill her, 
Miranda took courage to say, ‘‘ Do you fancy that I shall not 
be as glad to be rid of your husband, as you to be rid of me ? 
Why kill me needlessly, when all that you require is to get me 
forth of the place.? Out of sight, out of mind. When I am 
gone, your husband will soon forget me, and you will be his 
favorite as before.” Soon, seeing that the girl was inclined to 
listen, she went on to tell her of her love to Don Sebastian, en- 
treating and adjuring her, by the love which she bore the Ca- 
cique, to pity and help her; and so won upon the girl, that she 
consented to be privy to Miranda’s escape, and even offered to 
give her an opportunity of speaking to her husband about it; 
and at last was so won over by Miranda, that she consented to 
keep all intruders out of the way, while Don Sebastian that 

1 V- '— ao jp 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


243 


‘ The hnpless husband, thirsting for his love, was in that hut, 
be sure, the moment that kind darkness covered his steps ; — 
and what cheer these two made of each other, when they once 
found themselves together, lovers must fancy for themselves ; 
but so it was, that after many a leave-taking there was no de- 
parture, and when the night was well-nigh past, Sebastian and 
Miranda were still talking together, as if they had never met 
before, and would never meet again. 

‘ But it befel, ladies (would that I were not speaking truth, but 
inventing, that 1 might have invented something merrier for 
your ears), it befel that very night, that the young wife of the 
Cacique, whose heart was lifted up with the thought that her 
rival was now at last disposed of, tried all her wiles to win 
back her faithless husband, but in vain. He only answered 
her caresses by indifference, then by contempt, then insults, 
then blows (for with the Indians, woman is always a slave, or 
rather a beast of burden), and went on to draw such cruel com- 
parisons between her dark skin and the glorious fairness of the 
Spanish lady, that the wretched girl, beside herself with rage, 
burst out at last with her own secret, Fool that you are to 
madden yourself about a stranger who prizes one hair of her 
Spanish husband’s head more than your whole body ! Much 
does your new bride care for you! She is at this moment in 
her husband’s arms ! ” 

‘ The Cacique screamed furiously to know what she meant ; 
and she, her jealousy and hate of the guiltless lady boiling 
over once for all, bade him, if he doubled her, go see for 
himself. 

‘ What use of many words ? They were taken. Love, or 
rather lust, repelled, turned in a moment into devilish hate; 
and the Cacique, summoning his Indians, bade them bind the 
wretched Don Sebastian to a tree, and there inflict on him the 
lingering death to which he had at first been doomed. For 
Miranda he had more exquisite cruelty in store. And shall I 
tell it ? Yes, ladies, for the honor of love and of Spain, and for 
a justification of those cruelties against the Indians which are so 
faji^ly imputed to our most Christian nation, it shall be told: he 
delivered the wretched lady over to the tender mercies of his 
wives ; and what they were, is neither fit for me to tell, or you 
to hear. 

‘ The two wretched lovers cast themselves upon each other’s 
necks ; drank each other’s salt tears with the last kisses ; 
accused themselves as the cause of each other’s death ; and 
then, rising above fear and grief, broke out into triumph at thus 
dying for and with each other; and proclaiming themselves the 


244 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


martyrs of love, commended their souls to God, and then step- 
ped joyfully and proudly to their doom.’ 

‘ And what was that ? ’ asked half a dozen trembling voices. 

‘ Don Sebastian, as I have said, was shot to death with 
arrows; but as for the Lady Miranda, the wretches themselves 
confessed afterwards, when they received due vengeance for 
their crimes (as they did receive it), that after all shameful and 
horrible indignities, she was bound to a tree, and there burned 
slowly in her husband’s sight, stifling her shrieks lest they 
should wring his heart by one additional pang, and never taking 
her eyes, to the last, off that beloved face. And so died (but 
not unavenged) Sebastian de Hurtado and Lucia Miranda, — a 
Spanish husband and a Spanish wife.’ 

The Don paused, and the ladies were silent awhile ; for, in- 
deed, there was many a gentle tear to be dried ; but at last Mrs. 
St. Ledger spoke, half, it seemed, to turn off the too painful im- 
pression of the over-true tale, the outlines whereof may be still 
read in old Charlevoix. 

‘ You have told a sad and a noble tale. Sir, and told it well ; 
but, though your story was to set forth a perfect husband, it has 
ended rather by setting forth a perfect wife.’ 

‘ And if I have forgotten, Madam, in praising her to praise 
him also, have 1 not done that which would have best pleased 
his heroical and chivalrous spirit ? He, be sure, would have 
forgotten his own virtue in the light of hers ; and he would have 
wished me, I doubt not, to do the same also. And beside. 
Madam, where ladies are the theme, who has time or heart to 
cast one thought upon their slaves ? ’ And the Don made one 
of his deliberate and highly finished bows. 

‘ Don Guzman is courtier enough, as far as compliments go,* 
said one of the young ladies ; ‘ but it was hardly courtier-like of 
him to find us so sad an entertainment, upon a merry evening.’ 

‘Yes,’ said another; ‘ we must ask him for no more stories.’ 

‘ Or songs either,’ said a third. ‘ I fear he knows none but 
about forsaken maidens and despairing lovers.’ 

‘ I know nothing at all about forsaken ladies. Madam ; be- 
cause ladies are never forsaken in Spain.’ 

‘ Nor about lovers despairing there, I suppose ? ’ 

‘ That good opinion of ourselves. Madam, with which you 
English are pleased to twit us now and then, always prevents 
so sad a state of mind. For myself, 1 have had little” to do with 
love ; but I have had still less to do with despair ; and intend, 
by help of Heaven, to have less.’ 

‘You are valiant. Sir!’ 

‘ You would not have me a coward, Madam .? ’ and so forth. 


DINED AT ANNEEY HOTTSE. 


245 


Now all this time Don Guzman had been talking at Rose Sal- 
terne, and giving lier the very slightest hint, every now and then, 
that he was talking at her ; till the poor girl’s face was all 
crimson with pleasure, and she gave herself up to the spell. He 
loved her still : perhaps he knew that she loved him : he must 
know some day. She felt now that there was no escape ; she 
was almost glad to think that there was none. 

The dark, handsome, stately face ; the melodious voice, with 
its rich Spanish accent ; the quiet grace of the gestures ; the 
wild pathos of the story ; even the measured and inflated style, 
as of one speaking of another and a loftier world ; the chival- 
rous respect and admiration for woman, and for faithfulness to 
woman — what a man he was ! If he had been pleasant here- 
tofore, he was now enchanting. All the ladies round felt that, 
she could see, as much as she herself did : no, not quite as much 
she hoped. She surely understood him, and felt for his loneli- 
ness more than any of them. Had she not been feeling for it 
through long and sad months ? But it was she whom he was 
thinking of, she whom he was speaking to, all along. Oh, why 
had the tale ended so soon ? She would gladly have sat and 
wept her eyes out till midnight over one melodious misery 
after another : but she was quite wise enough to keep her secret 
to herself; and sat behind the rest, with greedy eyes and 
demure lips, full of strange and new happiness — or misery; 
she knew not which to call it. 

In the meanwhile, as it was ordained, Cary could see and 
hear through the window of the hall a good deal of what was 
going on. 

‘ How that Spanish crocodile ogles the Rose ! ’ whispered he 
to young St. Leger. 

‘ What wonder ? He is not the first by many a one.* 

‘Ay — but — By heaven, she is making side-shots at him 
with those languishing eyes of hers, the little baggage ! ’ 

‘ What wonder.^ He is not the first, say I, and .won’t be the 
last. Pass the wine, man.’ 

‘ I have had enough : between sack and singing, my head is 
as mazed as a dizzy sheep. Let me slip out.’ 

‘ Not yet, man ; remember you are bound for one song more.’ 

So Cary, against his will, sat and sang another song ; and in 
the meanwhile the party had broken up, and wandered away by 
twos and threes, among trim gardens, and pleasances, and 
clipped yew- walks — 

‘ Where west-winds with musky wing 
About the cedarn alleys fling 
Nard and cassia’s balmy smells — ’ 

21 * 


246 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


admiring the beauty of that stately place, long since passed 
into other hands, and fallen to decay ; but then (if old Prince 
speaks true) one of the noblest mansions of the west. 

At last Cary got away and out ; sober, but just enough flushed 
with wine to be ready for any quarrel; and luckily for him, 
had not gone twenty yards along the great terrace before he 
met Lady Grenvile. 

‘ Has your Ladyship seen Don Guzman } ’ 

‘ Yes — why, where is he ? He was with me not ten minutes 
ago. You know he is going back to Spain ? ’ 

‘ Going I Has his ransom come ? ’ 

‘ Yes, and with it a governorship in the Indies.’ 

‘ Governorship ? Much good may it do the governed.’ 

‘ Why not, then ? He is surely a most gallant gentleman.’ 

‘ Gallant enough — yes,’ said Cary carelessly. ‘ I must find 
him, and congratulate him on his honors.’ 

‘ I will help you to find him,’ said Lady Grenvile, whose 
woman’s eye and ear had already suspected something. ‘ Es- 
cort me. Sir.’ 

‘ It is but too great an honor to squire the Queen of Bide- 
ford,’ said Cary, offering his hand. 

‘ If I am your Queen, Sir, I must be obeyed,’ answered she 
in a meaning tone. Cary took the hint, and went on chattering 
cheerfully enough. 

But Don Guzman was not to be found in garden or in plea- 
sance. 

‘ Perhaps,’ at last said a burgher’s wife, with a toss of her 
head, ‘your Ladyship may meet with him at Hankford’s Oak.’ 

‘ At Hankford’s Oak ? what should take him there ? ’ 

‘ Pleasant company, I reckon ’ (with another toss). ‘ I heard 
him and Mistress Salterne talking about the oaJi just now.’ 

Cary turned pale, and drew in his breath. 

‘ Very likely,’ said Lady Grenvile, quietly. ‘ Will you walk 
with me so far, Mr. Cary ? ’ 

‘ To the world’s end, if your Ladyship condescends so far.’ 
And off they went. Lady Grenvile wishing that they were going 
anywhere else, but afraid to let Cary go alone ; and suspecting, 
too, that some one or other ought to go. 

So they went down past the herds of deer, by a trim-kept 
path into the lonely dell where stood the fatal oak ; and as they 
went. Lady Grenvile, to avoid more unpleasant talk, poured in- 
to Cary’s unheeding ears the story (which he probably had 
heard fifty times before), how old Chief Justice Hankford 
(whom some contradictory myths make the man who commit- 
ted Prince Henry to prison for striking him on the bench), 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


247 


weary of life, and sickened at the horrors and desolations of the 
wars of the Roses, went down to his house at Annery there, and 
bade his keeper shoot any man*who, passing through the deer- 
park at night, should refuse to stand when challenged ; and 
then going down into that glen himself, and hiding himself be- 
neath that oak, met willingly by his keeper’s hand the death 
which his own dared not inflict : but ere the story was half done, 
Cary grasped Lady Grenvile’s hand so tightly that she gave a 
little shriek of pain. 

‘ There they are ! ’ whispered he, heedless of her ; and 
pointed to the oak, where, half-hidden by the tall fern, stood 
Rose and the Spaniard. 

Her head was on his bosom. She seemed sobbing, trem- 
bling ; he talking earnestly and passionately ; but Lady Gren- 
vile’s little shriek made them both look up. To turn and try to 
escape was to confess all ; and the two, collecting themselves 
instantly, walked towards her. Rose wishing herself fathoms 
deep beneath the earth. 

• Mind, Sir,’ whispered Lady Grenvile as they came up ; 
‘ you have seen nothing.’ 

‘ Madam ? ’ 

‘ If you are not on my ground, you are on my brother’s. 
Obey me ! ’ 

Cary bit his lip, and bowed courteously to the Don. 

‘ 1 have to congratulate you, I hear, Senor, on your approach- 
ing departure.’ 

‘ 1 kiss your hands, Senor, in return ; but I question whether 
it be a matter of congratulation, considering all that I leave 
behind.’ 

‘ So do I,’ answered Cary, bluntly enough, and the four 
walked back to the house. Lady Grenvile taking everything for 
granted with the most charming good humor, and chatting to 
her three silent companions till they gained the terrace once 
more, and found four or five of the gentlemen, with Sir Rich- 
ard at their head, proceeding to the bowling-green. 

Lady Grenvile, in an agony of fear about the quarrel which 
she knew must come, would have gladly whispered five words 
to her husband : but she dared not do it before the Spaniard, 
and dreaded too a faint or a scream from the Rose, whose father 
was of the party. So she walked on with her fair prisoner, 
commanding Cary to escort them in, and the Spaniard to go to 
the bowling-green. 

Cary obeyed : but he gave her the slip the moment she was 
inside the door, and then darted off to the gentlemen. 


248 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


His heart was on fire ; all his old passion for the Rose had 
flashed up again at the sight of her with a lover ; — and that 
lover a Spaniard! He would 'cut his throat for him, if steel 
could do it r Only he recollected that Salterne was there, and 
shrank from exposing Rose ; and shrank too, as every gentle- 
man should, from making a public quarrel in another man’s 
house. Never mind. Where there was a will there was a 
way. He could get him into a corner, and quarrel with him 
privately about the cut of his beard, or the color of his ribbon. 
So in he went ; and, luckly or unluckily, found standing 
together apart from the rest, Sir Richard, the Don, and young 
St. Leger. 

‘ Well, Don Guzman, you have given us wine-bibbers the 
slip this afternoon. I hope you have been well employed in 
the meanwhile ? ’ 

‘ Delightfully to myself, Senor,’ said the Don, who, enraged 
at being interrupted, if not discovered, was as ready to fight as 
Cary, but disliked, of course, an explosion, as much as he did ; 
‘ and to others, 1 doubt not.’ 

‘ So the ladies say,’ quoth St. Leger. ‘ He has been making 
them all cry with one of his stories, and robbing us meanwhile 
of the pleasure we had hoped for from some of his Spanish 
songs.’ 

‘ The devil take Spanish songs ! ’ said Cary, in a low voice, 
but loud enough for the Spaniard. Don Guzman clapt his hand 
on his sword-hilt instantly. 

‘Lieutenant Cary,’ said Sir Richard, in a stern voice, ‘the 
wine has surely made you forget yourself! ’ 

‘ As sober as yourself, most worshipful knight ; but if you 
want a Spanish song, here’s one ; and a very scurvy one it is, 
like its subject : — 


‘ Don Desperado 
Walked on the Prado, 

And there he met his enemy. 

He pulled out a knife, a, 

And let out his life, a, 

And fled for his own across the sea.* 

And he bowed low to the Spaniard. 

The insult was too gross to require any spluttering. 

‘ Senor Cary, we meet ? ’ 

‘ 1 thank your quick apprehension, Don Guzman Maria Mag- 
dalena Sotomayor de Soto. When, where, and with what 
weapons ? ’ 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


249 


‘ For God’s sake, gentlemen ! Nephew Arthur, Cary is your 
guest ; do you know the meaning of this ? ’ 

St. Leger was silent. Cary answered for him. 

‘ An old Irish quarrel, I assure you. Sir. A matter of years’ 
standing. In unlacing the Sehor’s helmit, the evening that he 
was taken prisoner, 1 was unlucky enough to twitch his mus- 
tachios. You recollect the fact, of course, Senor ’ 

‘ Perfectly,’ said the Spaniard ; and then, half-amused, and 
half-pleased, in spite of his bitter wrath, at Cary’s quickness 
and delicacy in shielding Rose, he bowed, — 

‘ And it gives me much pleasure to find that he whom I trust 
to have the privilege of killing to-morrow morning, is a gentle- 
man whose nice sense of honor renders him thoroughly worthy 
of the sword of a De Soto.’ 

Cary bowed in return, while Sir Richard, who saw plainly 
enough that the excuse was feigned, shrugged his shoulders. 

‘ What weapons, Sehor ? ’ asked Will, again. 

‘ I should have preferred a horse and pistols,’ said Don Guz- 
man, after a moment, half to himself, and in Spanish ; ‘ they 
make surer work of it than bodkins ; but’ (with a 'sigh and one 
of his smiles) ‘ beggars must not be choosers.’ 

‘ The best horse in my stable is at your service, Senor,’ said 
Sir Richard Grenvile, instantly. 

‘ And in mine, also, Senor,’ said Cary ; ‘ and I shall be happy 
to allow you a week to train him, if he does not answer at first 
to a Spanish hand.’ 

‘ You forget, in your courtesy, gentle Sir, that the insult 
being with me, the time lies with me also. We wipe it off 
to-morrow morning, with simple rapiers and daggers. Who is 
your second ? ’ 

‘ Mr. Arthur St. Leger here, Senor : who is your’s > ’ 

The Spaniard felt himself alone in the world for one moment; 
and then answered, with another of his smiles, — 

‘ Your nation possesses the soul of honor. He who fights 
an Englishman needs no second.’ 

‘And he who fights among Englishmen will always find one,’ 
said Sir Richard. ‘ I am the fittest second for my guest.’ 

‘ You only add one more obligation, illustrious cavalier, to a 
two years’ prodigality of favors, which I shall never be able to 
repay.’ 

‘ But, Nephew Arthur,’ said Grenvile, ‘ you cannot surely be 
second against your father’s guest, and your own uncle.’ 

‘ I cannot help it, Sir ; I am bound by an oath, as Will can 
tell you. I suppose you won’t think it necessary to let me 
blood ? ’ 


250 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


‘ You half deserve it, sirrah ! ’ said Sir Richard, who was 
very angry ; but the Don interposed quickly. 

‘Heaven forbid, Senors ! We are no French duellists, who 
are mad enough to make four or six lives answer for the sins of 
two. This gentleman and I have quarrel enough between us, 
I suspect, to make a right bloody encounter.’ 

‘ The dependence is good enough, Sir,’ said Cary, licking his 
sinful lips afthe thought. ‘Very well. Rapiers and shirts at 
three to-morrow morning. Is that the bill of fare ? Ask Sir 
Richard where, Atly. It is against punctilio now for me to 
speak to him till after I am killed.’ 

‘ On the sands opposite. The tide will be out at three. And 
now, gallant gentlemen, let us join the bowlers.’ 

And so they went back and spent a merry evening, all ex- 
cept poor Rose, who, ere she went back, had poured all her 
sorrows into Lady Grenvile’s ear. For the kind woman, know- 
ing that she was motherless and guideless, carried her off into 
Mrs. St. Leger’s chamber, and there entreated her to tell the 
truth, and heaped her with pity, but with no comfort. For, 
indeed, whafcomfort was there to give ? 

Three o’clock, upon a still, pure, bright midsummer morning. 
A broad and yellow sheet of ribbed tide-sands, through which 
the shallow river wanders from one hill-foot to the other, whis- 
pering round dark knolls of rock, and under low tree-fringed 
cliffs, and banks of golden broom. A mile below, the long 
bridge and the white-walled town, all sleeping pearly in the 
soft haze, beneath a cloudless vault of blue. The white glare 
of dawn, which last night hung high in the north-west, has 
travelled now to the north-east, and above the wooded wall of 
the hills the sky is flushing with rose and amber. 

A long line of gulls goes wailing up inland ; the rooks from 
Annery come cawing and sporting round the corner at Land- 
cross, while high above them four or five herons flap solemnly 
along to find their breakfast on the shallows. The pheasants 
and patridges are clucking merrily in the long wet grass ; 
every corpse and hedge-row rings with the voice of birds ; but 
the lark, who has been singing since midnight in the ‘ blank 
height of the dark,’ suddenly hushes his carol and drops head- 
long among the corn, as a broad-winged buzzard swings from 
some wooded peak into the abyss of the valley, and hangs 
high-poised above the heavenward songster. The air is full of 
perfume ; sweet clover, new mown hay, the fragrant breath of 
kine, the dainty scent of sea- weed wreaths and fresh wet sand. 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


251 


Glorious day, glorious place, ‘ bridal of earth and sl<y,’ decked 
well with bridal garlands, bridal perfumes, bridal songs, — What 
do those four cloaked figures there by the river bank, a dark 
spot on the fair face of the summer morn ? 

Yet one is as cheerful as if he, too, like all nature round 
him, were going to a wedding ; and that is Will Cary. He 
has been bathing down below, to cool his brain and steady his 
hand ; and he intends to stop Don Guzman Maria Magdalena So- 
tomayor de Soto’s wooing for ever and a day. The Spaniard is 
in a very different mood ; fierce and haggard, he is pacing up 
and down the sand. He intends to kill Will Cary ; but, then, 
will he be the nearer to Kose by doing so ? Can he stay in 
Bideford ? Will she go with him ? Shall he stoop to stain his 
family by marrying a burgher’s daughter ? It is a confused, 
all but desperate, business ; and Don Guzman is certain but of 
one thing, that he is madly in love with this fair witch, and that 
if she refuse him, then, rather than see her accept another man, 
he would kill her with his own hands. 

Sir Richard Grenvile, too, is in no very pleasant humor, as 
St. Leger soon discovers, when the two seconds begin whisper- 
ing over their arrangements. 

‘ We cannot have either of them killed, Arthur.’ 

‘ Mr. Cary swears he will kill the Spaniard, Sir.’ 

‘ Pie shan’t. The Spaniard is my guest. I am answerable 
for him to Leigh, and for his ransom, too. And how can Leigh 
accept the ranson if the man is not given up safe and sound ^ 
They won’t pay for a .dead carcase, boy ! The man’s life is 
worth two hundred pounds.’ 

‘ A very bad bargain, Sir, for those who pay the said two 
hundred for the rascal ; but what if he kills Cary ? ’ 

‘ Worse still. Cary must not be killed. I am very angry 
with him, but he is too good a lad to be lost ; and his father 
would never forgive us. VVe must strike up their swords at 
the first scratch.’ 

‘ It will make them very mad. Sir.’ 

‘ Hang them ! let them fight us, then, if they don’t like our 
counsel. It must be, Arthur.’ 

‘ Be sure. Sir,’ said Arthur, ‘ that whatsoever you shall com- 
mand I shall perform. It is only too great an honor to a 
young man as I am, to find myself in the same duel with your 
worship, and to have the advantage of your wisdom and ex- 
perience.’ 

Sir Richard smiles, and says, — ‘ Now, gentlemen ! are you 
ready ? ’ 

The Spaniard pulls out a little crucifix, and kisses it devoutly. 


252 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


smiting on his breast : crosses himself two or three times, and 
says', — ‘ Most willingly. Senior.’ 

Cary kisses no crucifix, but says a prayer, nevertheless. 

Cloaks and doublets are tossed off, the men placed, the ra- 
piers measured hilt and point ; Sir Richard and St. Leger place 
themselves right and left of the combatants, facing each other, 
the points of their drawn swords on the sand. Cary and the 
Spaniard stand for a moment quite upright, their sword-arms 
stretched straight before them, holding the long rapier horizon- 
tally, the left hand clutching the dagger close to their breasts. 
So they stand, eye to eye, with clenched teeth and pale crushed 
lips, while men might count a score ; St. Leger can hear the 
beating of his own heart ; Sir Richard is praying inwardly 
that no life may be lost. Suddenly there is a quick turn of 
Cary’s wrist, and a leap forward. The Spaniard’s dagger 
flashes, and the rapier is turned aside ; Cary springs six feet 
back, as the Spaniard rushes on him in turn. Parry, thrust, 
parry — the steel rattles, the sparks fly, the men breathe fierce 
and loud : the devil’s game is begun in earnest. 

Five minutes have the two had instant death a short six inches 
off from those wild sinful hearts of theirs, and not a scratch 
has been given. Yes ! the Spaniard’s rapier passes under 
Cary’s left arm ; he bleeds. 

‘ A hit ! a hit ! Strike up, Atty ! ’ and the swords are struck 
up instantly. 

Cary, n^ettled by the smart, tries to close with his foe, but the 
seconds cross their swords before him. 

‘ It is enough, gentlemen. Don Guzman’s honor is satis- 
fied ! ’ 

‘But not my revenge, Senor,’ says the Spaniard, with a 
frown. ‘ This duel is d Voutrance on my part ; and, I believe, 
on Mr. Cary’s also.’ 

‘By heaven it is!’ says Will, trying to push past. ‘Let 
me go, Arthur St. Leger ; one of us must down. Let me go, 
I say ! ’ 

‘ If you stir, Mr. Cary, you have to do with Richard Gren- 
vile! ’ thunders the lion voice. ‘ I am angry enough with you 
for having brought on this duel at all. Don’t provoke me still 
further, young hot-head 1 ’ 

Cary stops sulkily. 

‘ You do not know all. Sir Richard, or you would not speak 
in this way.’ 

‘ I do. Sir, all : and I shall have the honor of talking it over 
with Don Guzman myself.’ 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


253 


‘ Hey ? ’ said the Spaniard. ‘ You came here as my second, 
Sir Richard, as I understood ; but not as my counsellor.’ 

‘ Arthur, take your man away ! Cary ! obey me as you 
would your father. Sir ! Can you not trust Richard Gren- 
vile ? ’ 

‘ Come away, for God’s sake ! ’ says poor Arthur, dragging 
Cary’s sword from him ; Sir Richard must know best ! ’ 

So Cary is led off sulking, and Sir Richard turns to the 
Spaniard, — 

‘ And now, Don Guzman, allow me, though much against 
my will, to speak to you as a friend to a friend. You will 
pardon me if I say that I cannot but have seen last nights’ 
devotion to — ’ 

‘ You will be pleased, Senor, not to mention the name of any 
lady to whom I may have shown devotion. I am not accus- 
tomed to have my little affairs talked over by any unbidden 
counsellors.’ 

‘ Well, Senor, if you take offence, you take that which is 
not given. Only I warn you, with all apologies for any seem- 
ing forwardness, that the quest on which you seem to be, is one 
on which you will not be allowed to proceed.’ 

‘ And who will stop me ? ’ asked the Spaniard, with a fierce 
oath. 

‘ You are not aware, illustrious Senior,’ said Sir Richard, par- 
rying the question, ‘ that our English laity look upon mixed 
marriages with full as much dislike as your own ecclesiastics.’ 

‘ Marriage, Sir ? Who gave you leave to mention that word 
to me ’ 

‘ Sir Richard’s brow darkened ; the Spaniard, in his insane 
pride, had forced upon the good knight a suspicion which was 
not really just. 

‘ Is it possible, then, Senor Don Guzman, that I am to - have 
the shame of mentioning a baser word ? ’ 

‘ Mention what you will, Sir. All words are the same to 
me ; for, just or unjust, I shall answer them alike only by my 
sword.’ 

‘ You will do no such thing. Sir. You forget that 1 am your 
host.’ 

‘ And do you suppose that you have therefore a right to 
insult me ? Stand on your guard. Sir ! ’ ^ 

Grenvile answered by slapping his own rapier home into 
the sheath, with a quiet smile. 

‘Senor Don Guzman must be well enough aware of who 
Richard Grenvile is, to know that he may claim the right of 
refusing duel to anv man, if he shall so think fit.’ 

22 


254 


HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE 


‘ Sir ! ’ cried the Spaniard, with an oath, ‘ this is too much ! 
Do you dare to hint that I am unworthy of your sword ? Know, 
insolent Englishman, I am not merely a De Soto, — though 
that, by St. James, were enough for you or any man. I, a 

Sotomayor, a Mendoza, a Bovadilla, a Losada, a Sir ! I 

have blood royal in my veins, and you dare to refuse my 
challenge ? ’ . 

‘ Richard Grenvile can show quarterings, probably, against 
even Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto, or 
against (with no offence to the unquestioned nobility of your 
pedigree) the bluest blood of Spain. But he can show, more- 
over, thank God, a reputation which raises him as much above 
the imputation of cowardice, as it does above that of discour- 
tesy. If you think fit, Senor, to forget what you have just, in 
very excusable anger, vented, and to return with me, you will 
find me still, as ever, your most faithful servant and host. If 
otherwise, you have only to name whither you wish your mails 
to be sent, and I shall, with unfeigned sorrow, obey your com- 
mands concerning them.’ 

The Spaniard, bowing stiffly, answered, ‘ To the nearest 
tavern, Senor,’ and then strode away. His baggage was sent 
thither. He took a boat down to Appledore that very after- 
noon, and vanished, none knew whither. A veiy courteous 
note to Lady Grenvile, enclosing the jewel which he had been 
used to wear round his neck, was the only memorial he left 
behind him ; except, indeed, the scar on Cary’s arm, and poor 
Rose’s broken heart. 

Now county towns are scandalous places at best ; and though 
all parties tried to keep the duel secret, yet, of course, before 
noon all Bideford knew what had happened, and a great deal 
more ; and what was even worse. Rose, in an agony of terror, 
had seen Sir Richard Grenvile enter her father’s private room, 
and sit there closeted with him for an hour and more ; and 
when he went, upstairs came old Salterne, with his stick in 
his hand, and after rating her soundly for far worse than a flirt, 
gave her (I am sorry to have to say it, but such was the mild 
fashion of paternal rule in those times, even over such daughters 
as Lady Jane Grey, if Roger Ascham is to be believed) such a 
beating, that her poor sides were black and blue for many a day ; 
and then, putting her on a pillion behind him, carried her off 
twenty miles to her old prison at Stow Mill, commanding her 
aunt to tame down her saucy blood with bread of affliction, and 
water of affliction. Which commands were willingly enough ful- 
filled by the old dame, who had aTways borne a grudge against 
Rose for being rich while she was poor, and pretty while her 


DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 


255 


daughter was plain ; so that between flouts, and sneers, and 
watchings, and pretty open hints that she was a disgrace to her 
family, and no better than she should be, the poor innocent child 
watered her couch with her tears for a fortnight or more, stretch- 
ing out her hands to tlie wide Atlantic, and calling wildly to Don 
Guzman to return and take her where he would, and she would 
live for him and die for him ; and perhaps she did not call in 
vain. • - 


256 


HOW THE GOLDEN HIND 


CHAPTER XIII. 

HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN. 

‘ The spirits of your fathers, 

Shall start from every wave ; 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And ocean was their grave.’ 

Campbell. 

‘ So you see, my dear Mrs. Hawkins, having the silver, as 
your own eyes show you, beside the ores of lead, manganese, 
and copper, and above all this, gossan (as the Cornish call it), 
which 1 suspect to be not merely the matrix of the ore, but 
also the very crude form and materia prima of all metals — 
you ma'rk me If my recipes, which I had from Dr. Dee, 
succeed only half so well as I expect, then I refine out the* 
Luna, the silver, lay it by, and transmute the remaining ores 
into Sol, gold. Wherupon Peru and Mexico become super- 
fluities, and England the mistress of the globe. Strange, no 
doubt ; distant, no doubt ; but possible, my dear Madam, pos- 
sible ! ’ 

‘ And what good to you if it be, Mr. Gilbert > If you could 
find a philosopher’s stone to turn sinners into saints now ; — 
but nought save God’s grace can do that ; and that last seems 
ofttimes over long in coming.’ And Mrs. Hawkins sighed. 

‘ But indeed, my dear Madam, conceive now. The Comb 
Martin mine thus becomes a gold mine, perhaps inexhaustible ; 
yields me wherewithal to carry out my north-west patent ; 
meanwhile my brother Humphrey holds Newfoundland, and 
builds me fresh ships year by year (for the forests of pine are 
boundless) for my China voyage.’ 

‘ Sir Humphrey has better thoughts in his dear heart than 
gold, Mr. Adrian ; a very close and gracious walker he has 
been this seven year. I wish my Captain John were so too.’ 

‘ And how do you know I^have nought better in my mind’s 
eye than gold ? Or, indeed, what better could I have i Is not 
gold the Spaniard’s strength — the very mainspring of Anti- 


CAME HOME AGAIN. 


257 


Christ ? By gold only, therefore, can we outwrestle him. You 
shake your head ; but say, dear Madam (for gold England 
must have), which is better, to make gold bloodlessly at home, 
or take bloodily abroad ? ’ 

‘ Oh, Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Gilbert ! is it not written, that those 
who make haste to be rich, pierce themselves through with 
many sorrows ? Oh, Mr. Gilbert ! God’s blessing is not on 
it all.’ 

‘ Not on you. Madam ? Be sure that brave Captain John 
Hawkins’s star told me a different tale, when 1 cast his nativity 
for him. Born under stormy planets, truly ; but under right 
royal and fortunate ones.’ 

‘ Ah, Mr. Adrian ! I am a simple body, and you a great 
philosopher; but 1 hold there is no star for the seaman like the 
star of Bethlehem ; and that goes with “ peace on earth and 
good will to men,” and not with such arms as that, Mr. Adrian. 
1 can’t abide to look upon them.’ 

And she pointed up to one of the bosses of the ribbed oak 
roof, on which was emblazoned the fatal crest which Clarencieux 
Hervey had granted years before to her husband, the ‘ Demi- 
Moor proper, bound.’ 

‘ Ah, Mr. Gilbert ! since first he went to Guinea after those 
poor negroes, little lightness has my heart known ; and the 
very day that that crest was put up in our grand ne\t^ house, as 
the parson read the first lesson, there was this text in it, Mr. 
Gilbert : “ Woe to him that buildeth his house by iniquity, and 
his-chambers by wrong. Shalt thou live because thou closest 
thyself in cedar ? ” And it went into my ears like fire, Mr. 
Gilbert, and into my heart like lead ; and when the parson 
went on, “ Did not thy father eat and drink, and do judgment 
and justice ? Then it was well with him,” I thought of good old 
Captain Will ; and, I tell you, Mr. Gilbert, those negroes are on 
my soul from morning until night ! We are all mighty grand 
now, and money comes in fast ; but the Lord will require the 
blood of them at our hands yet. He will.’ 

‘ My dearest Madam, who can prosper more than you.? If 
your husband copied the Dons too closely once or twice in the 
matter of those negroes (which I do not deny), was he not pun- 
ished at once when he lost ships, men, all but life, at St. Juan 
d’Ulloa.?’ 

‘ Ay, yes,’ she said ; ‘ and that did give me a bit of comfort ; 
but it has not mended him. He is growing fast like the rest 
now, Mr. Gilbert, greedy to win, and niggardly to spend, (God ' 
forgive him!) and always fretting and plotting for some new 
gain, and envying and grudging at Drake, and all who are 
22 * 


258 


HOW THE GOLDEN HIND 


deeper in the snare of prosperity than he is. Gold, gold, 
nothing but gold in every mouth — there it is ! Ah I I mind 
when Plymouth was a quiet little God-fearing place as God 
could smile upon; but ever since my John, and Sir Prancis, 
and poor Mr. Oxenham found out the way to the Indies, it’s 
been a sad place. Not a sailor’s wife but is crying, “ Give, 
give,” like the daughters of the horse-leech ; and every woman 
must drive her husband out across seas to bring her home 
money to squander on hoods and farthingales, and go mincing, 
with outstretched necks and wanton eyes ; and they will soon 
learn to do worse than that, for the sake of gain. But the 
Lord’s hand will be against their tires and crisping-pins, their 
mufflers and farthingales, as it was against the Jews of old. 
Ah, dear me ! ’ 

The two interlocutors in this dialogue were sitting in a low, 
oak-panelled room in Plymouth town, handsomely enough fur- 
nished, adorned with carving and gilding and coats of arms, 
and noteworthy for many strange knicknacks ; Spanish gold and 
silver vessels on the sideboard ; strange birds and skins, charts 
and rough drawings of coast which hung about the room ; while 
over the fire-place, above the portrait of old Captain Will Haw- 
kins, pet of Henry the Eighth, hung the Spanish ensign, which 
Captain John had taken in fair fight at Rio de la Hacha, fifteen 
years before, when, with two hundred men, he seized the town 
in despite of ten hundred Spanish soldiers, and watered his ship 
triumphantly at the enemy’s wells. 

The gentleman was a tall, fair man, with a broad and lofty 
forehead, wrinkled with study, and eyes weakened by long 
poring over the crucible and the furnace. 

The lady had once been comely enough ; but she was aged * 
and worn, as sailors’ wives are apt to be, by many sorrows. 
Many a sad day had she had already; for although John Haw- 
kins, port-admiral of Plymouth, and patriarch of British ship- 
builders, was a faithful husband enough, and as ready to forgive 
as he was to quarrel, yet he was obstinate and ruthless, and in 
spite of his religiosity (for all men were religious then), was by 
no means a ‘ consistent walker.’ 

And sadder days were in store for her, poor soul. Nine 
years hence she would be asked to name her son’s brave new 
ship, and would christen it The Repentance, giving no reason, 
in her quiet, steadfast way (so says her son Richard), but that 
‘ Repentance was the best ship in which we could sail to the 
harbor of heaven ; ’ and she would hear that Queen Elizabeth, 
complaining of the name for an unlucky one, had re-christened 
her The Dainty, not without some bye-quip, perhaps at the 


CAME HOME AGAIN. 


259 


character of her most dainty captain, Richard Hawkins, the 
complete seaman and Euphuist afloat, of whom, perhaps, more 
hereafter. 

With sad eyes, Mrs. (then Lady) Hawkins would see that 
gallant bark sail Westward ho, to go the world around, as many 
another ship sailed ; and then wait, as many a mother beside 
had waited, for the sail which never returned ; till, dim and 
uncertain, came tidings of her boy fighting for four days three 
great Armadas (for the coxcomb had his father’s heart in him 
after all), a prisoner, wounded, ruined, languishing for weary 
years in Spanish prisons. And a sadder day than that was in 
store, when a gallant fleet should round the Ram Head, not with 
drum and trumpet, but with solemn minute guns, and all flags 
half-mast high, to tell her that her terrible husband’s work was 
done, his terrible heart broken by failure and fatigue, and his 
body laid by Drake’s, beneath the far-off tropic seas. 

And if, at the close of her eventful life, one gleam of sun- 
shine opened for awhile, when her boy Richard returned to 
her bosom from his Spanish prison, to be knighted for his valor, 
and made a Privy Councillor for his wisdom : yet soon, how 
soon, was the old cloud to close in again above her, until her 
weary eyes should open in the light of Paradise. For that son 
dropped dead, some say at the very council-table, leaving 
behind him nought but broken fortunes, and huge purposes 
which never were fulfilled ; and the stormy star of that bold 
race set for ever, and Lady Hawkins bowed her weary head 
and died, the groans of those stolen negroes ringing in her ears, 
having lived long enough to see her husband’s youthful sin 
become a national institution, and a national curse for genera- 
tions yet unborn. 

1 know not why she opened her heart that night to Adrian 
Gilbert, with a frankness which she would hardly have dared to 
use to her own family. Perhaps it was that Adrian, like his 
great brothers, Humphrey and Raleigh, w'as a man full of all 
lofty and delicate enthusiasms, tender and poetical, such as 
women cling to when their hearts are lonely : but so it was ; 
and Adrian, half ashamed of his own ambitious dreams, sate 
looking at her awhile in silence ; and then, — 

‘ The Lord be with you, dearest lady. Strange, how you 
women sit at home to love and suffer, while we men rush forth 
to break our hearts and yours against rocks of our own seek- 
ing ! Ah well ! were it not for Scripture, I should have thought 
that Adam, rather than Eve, had been the one who plucked the 
fruit of the'forbidden tree,’ 


260 


HOW THE GOLDEN HIND 


‘ We women, I fear, did the deed nevertheless ; for we bear 
the doom of it our lives long.’ 

‘ You always remind me, Madam, of my dear Mrs. Leigh of 
Burrough, and her counsels.’ 

‘ Do you see her often ? I hear of her as one of the Lord’s 
most precious vessels.’ 

‘ I would have done more ere now than see her,’ said he with 
a blush, ‘ had she allowed me : but she lives only for the memory 
of her husband and the fame of her noble sons.’ 

As he spoke the door opened, and in walked, wrapped in 
his rough sea-gown, none other than one of those said noble 
sons. 

Adrian turned pale. 

‘ Amyas Leigh ! What brings you hither ! How fares my 
brother? Where is the ship ? ’ 

‘ Your brother is well, Mr. Gilbert. The Golden Hind is 
gone on to Dartmouth, with Mr. Hayes. I came ashore here, 
meaning to go north to Bideford, ere I went to London. I called 
at Drake’s just now, but he was away.’ 

‘ The Golden Hind ? What brings her home so soon ? ’ 

‘Yet welcome, ever. Sir,’ said Mrs. Hawkins. ‘This is a 
great surprise, though. Captain John did not look for you till 
next year.’ 

Amyas was silent. 

‘ Something is wrong ! ’ cried Adrian. ‘ Speak ! ’ 

Amyas tried, but could not. 

‘Will you drive a man mad. Sir? Has the adventure 
failed ? You said my brother was well.’ 

‘ He is well.’ 

‘ Then what ? Why do you look at me in that fashion. Sir ? ’ 
And springing up, Adrian rushed forward, and held the candle 
to Amyas’s face. 

Amyas’s lip quivered, as he laid his hand on Adrian’s 
shoulder. 

‘ Your great and glorious brother. Sir, is better bestowed than 
in settling Newfoundland.’ 

‘ Dead ? ’ shrieked Adrian. 

‘ He is with the God whom he served ! ’ 

‘ He was always with him, like Enoch : parable me no para- 
bles, if you love me. Sir ! ’ 

‘ And like Enoch, he was not ; for God took him.’ 

Adrian clasped his hapds over his forehead, and leaned 
against the table. 

‘ Go on, Sir, go on. God will give me strength to hear all.’ 


CAME HOME AGAIN. 


261 


And gradually Amyas opened to Adrian that tragic story, 
which Mr. Hayes has long ago told far two well to allow a 
second edition of it from me ; of the unruliness of the men, 
ruffians, as I said before, caught up at hap-hazard; of conspi- 
racies to carry off the ships, plunder the fishing vessels, deser- 
tions multiplying daily ; licenses from the General to the lazy 
and fearful to return home ; till Adrian broke out with a 
groan,— 

‘ From him ? Conspired against him ? Deserted from him > 
Dotards, buzzards ! Where would they have found such another 
leader ? ’ 

‘ Your illustrious brother. Sir,’ said Amyas, ‘ if you will 
pardon me, was a very great philosopher, but not so much of 
a general.’ 

‘ General, Sir Where was braver man ? ’ 

‘ Not on God’s earth ; but that does not make a general. Sir. 
If Cortes had been brave and no more, Mexico would have been 
Mexico still. The truth is. Sir, Cortes, like my Captain Drake, 
knew when to hang a man ; and your great brother did not.’ i 

Amyas, as I suppose, was right. Gilbert was a man who 
could be angry enough at baseness or neglect,^but who was too 
kindly to punish it ; he was one who could form the wisest and 
best digested plans, but who could not stoop to that hail-fellow- 
well-met drudgery among his subordinates which has been the 
talisman of great captains. 

Then Amyas went on to tell the rest of his story ; the set- 
ting sail from St. John’s to discover the southward coast ; Sir 
Humphrey’s chivalrous determination to go in the little Squirrel 
of only ten tons, and ‘ over-charged with nettings, fights, and 
small ordnance,’ not only because she was more fit to examine 
the creeks, but because he had heard of some taunt against him 
among the men, that he was afraid of the sea. 

After that, woe on woe ; how seven days after they left Cape 
Raz, their largest ship, the Delight, after she had ‘ most part of 
the night ’ (I quote Hayes), ‘ like the swan that singeth before 
her death, continued in sounding of trumpets, drums, and fifes, 
also winding of the cornets and hautboys, and, in the end of 
their jollity, left off with the battle and doleful knells,’ struck 
the next day (the Golden Hind and the Squirrel sheering off 
just in time) upon unknown shoals ; where were lost all but 
fourteen, and among them poor Budaeus ; and those who escaped, 
after all horrors of cold and famine, were cast on shore in 
Newfoundland. How, worn out with hunger and want of clothes, 
the crews of the two remaining ships persuaded Sir Humphrey 
to sail toward England on the 31st of August ; and on ‘ that 


262 


HOW THE GOLDEN HIND 


very instant, even in winding about,’ beheld close alongside ‘ a 
very lion in shape, hair, and color, not swimming, but sliding 
on the water with his whole body ; who passed along, turning 
his head to and fro, yawning and gaping wide, with ugly demon- 
station of long teeth and glaring eyes; and to bid us farewell 
(coming right against the Hind) he sent forth a horrible voice, 
roaring and bellowing as doth a lion.’ ‘ What opinion others had 
thereof, and chiefly the General himself, I forbear to deliver; 
but he took it for bonum omen, rejoicing that he was to war 
against such an enemy, if it were the devil.’ 

‘ And the devil it was, doubtless,’ -said Adrian, ‘ the roaring 
lion who goes about seeking whom he may devour.’ 

‘ He has not got your brother, at least,’ quoth Amyas. 

' ‘ No,’ rejoined Mrs. Hawkins (smile not, reader, for those 
were days in which men believed in the devil) ; ‘ he roared for 
joy to think how many poor souls would be left still in heathen 
darkness by Sir Humphrey’s death. God be with that good 
knight, and send all mariners where he is now ! ’ 

Then Amyas told the last scene ; how, when they were oflf 
the Azores, the storms came on heavier than ever, with ‘ terri- 
ble seas, breakmg short and pyramid-wise,’ till, on the 9th 
September, the tiny Squirrel nearly foundered and yet recov- 
ered ; ‘ And the General, sitting abaft with a book in his hand, 
cried out to us in the Hind so oft as we did approach within 
hearing, “ We are as near heaven by sea as by land,” reiter- 
ating the same speech, well beseeming a soldier resolute in 
Jesus Christ, as I can testify he was. 

‘The same Monday, about twelve of the clock, or not long 
after, the frigate (the Squirrel) being ahead of us in the Golden 
Hind, suddenly her lights were out ; and withal our watch 
cried, the General was cast away, which was true ; for in that 
moment, the frigate was devoured and swallowed up of the 
sea.’ And so ended (I have used Hayes’s own words) Amyas 
Leigh’s story. 

‘ Oh, my brother ! my brother ! ’ moaned poor Adrian ; ‘ the 
glory of his house, the glory of Devon ! ’ 

‘ Ah ! what will the Queen say .? ’ asked Mrs. Hawkins 
through her tears. 

‘ Tell me,’ asked Adrian, ‘ had he the jewel on when he 
died ? ’ 

‘ The Queen’s jewel .? Fie always wore that, and his own 
posy too, “ Mutare vel timere spernoy He wore it ; and he 
lived it.’ 

‘ Ay,’ said Adrian, ‘ the same to the last ! ’ 

‘ Not quite that,’ said Amyas. ‘ He was a meeker man lat- 


CAME HOME AGAIN. 


263 


terly than he used to be. As he said himself once, a better 
refiner than any whom he had on board had followed him close 
all the seas over, and purified him in the fire. And gold seven 
times tried he was, when God, having done his work in him, 
took him home at last.’ 

And so the talk ended. There was no doubt that the expe- 
dition had been an utter failure ; Adrian was a ruined man ; and 
Amyas had lost his venture. 

Adrian rose, and begged leave to retire ; he must collect 
himself. 

‘ Poor gentleman ! ’ said Mrs. Hawkins ; ‘ it is little else he 
has left to collect.’ 

‘ Or I either,’ said Amyas. ‘ I was going to ask you to lend 
me one of your son’s shirts, and five pounds to get myself and 
my men home.’ 

‘ Five ? Fifty,* Mr. Leigh ! God forbid that John Hawkins’s 
wife should refuse her last penny to a distressed mariner, and 
he a gentleman born. But you must eat and drink.’ 

‘ It’s more than I have done for many a day worth speak- 
ing of.’ 

And Amyas sat down in his rags to a good supper, while Mrs. 
Hawkins told him all the news which she could of his mother, 
whom Adrian Gilbert had seen a few months before in London \ 
and then went on, naturally enough, to the Bideford news. 

‘ And, by the bye. Captain Leigh, I’ve sad news for you 
from your place ; and I had it from one who was there at the 
time. You must know a Spanish captain, a prisoner — ’ 

‘ What, the one I sent home from Smerwick ? ’ 

‘ You sent ? Mercy on us ! Then, perhaps, you’ve heard — ’■ 
‘ How can I have heard ? What ? ’ 

‘ That he’s gone ofT, the villain ! ’ 

‘ Without paying his ransom ? ’ 

‘ I can’t say that ; but there’s a poor innocent young maid 
gone off with him, one Salterne’s daughter — the Popish ser- 
pent ! ’ 

‘ Rose Salterne, the Mayor’s daughter, the Rose of Torridge ? ’ 

‘ That’s her. Bless your dear soul, what ails you ? ’ 

Amyas had dropped back in his seat as if he had been shot ; 
but he recovered himself before kind Mrs. Hawkins could rush 
to the cupboard for cordials. 

‘ You’ll forgive me. Madam ; but I’m weak from the sea ; and 
your good ale has turned me a bit dizzy, I think.’ 

‘ Ay, yes, ’tis too, too heavy, till you’ve been on shore awhile. 
Try the aqua vitae ; my Captain John has it right good ; and a 


264 


HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN. 


bit too fond of it too, poor dear soul, between whiles, Heaven 
forgive him ! ’ 

So she poured some strong brandy and water down Amyas’s 
throat, in spite of his refusals, and sent him to bed, but not to 
sleep ; and, after a night of tossing, he started for Bideford, 
having obtained the means for so doing from Mrs. Hawkins. 


\ 




SALVATION YEO, ETC. 


265 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HOW SALVATION YEO SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 

‘ Ignorance and evil, even in full flight, deal terrible back-handed 
trokes at their pursuers.’ — Helps. 

Now I am sorry to say for tLe honor of my country, that it 
was by no means a safe thing in those days to travel from 
Plymouth to the north of Devon; because, to get to your jour- 
ney’s end, unless you were minded to make a circuit of many 
miles, you must needs pass through the territory of a foreign 
and hostile potentate, who had many times ravaged the domin- 
ions, and defeated the forces of her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, 
and was named (behind his back at least) the King of the Gub- 
bings. ‘ So now I dare call them,’ says Fuller, ‘secured by 
distance, which one of more valor durst not do to their face, 
for fear their fury fall upon him. Yet hitherto have I met with 
none who could render a reason of their name. We call the 
shavings of fish (which are little worth) gubbings ; and sure 
it is that they are sensible that the word importeth shame and 
disgrace. 

‘ As for the suggestion of my worthy and learned friend, Mr. 
Joseph Maynard, that such as did “ inhahitare monies gibber- 
050 S,” were called Gubbings, such will smile at the ingenuity 
• who dissent from the truth of the etymology. 

‘ I have read of an England beyond Wales, but the Gubbings 
land is a Scythia within England, and they pure heathens therein. 
It lieth nigh Brent. For in the edge of Dartmoor, it is reported, 
that some two hundred years since, two bad women, being with 
child, fled thither to hide themselves ; to whom certain lewd 
fellows resorted, and this was their first original. They are a 
peculiar of their own making, exempt' from bishop, archdeacon, 
and all authority, either ecclesiastical or civil. They live in cots 
(rather holes than houses) like swine, having all in common, 
multiplied without marriage into many hundreds. Their lan- 
guage is the dross of the dregs of the vulgar Devonian ; and the 
more learned a man is, the worse he can understand them. 

23 


266 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


During our civil wars no soldiers were quartered upon them, 
for fear of being quartered amongst them. Their wealth con- 
sisteth in other men’s goods ; they live by stealing the sheep on 
the moors; and vain is it for any to search their houses, being 
a work beneath the pains of any sheriff, and above the power of 
any constable. Such is their fleetness, they will outrun many 
horses ; vivaciousness, they outlive most men ; living in an 
ignorance of luxury, the extinguisher of life. They hold together 
like bees ; offend one, and all will revenge his quarrel. 

‘ But now, I am informed, that they begin to be civilized, and 
tender their children to baptism, and return to be men, yea, 
Christians again. I hope no civil people amongst us will turn 
barbarians, now these barbarians begin to be civilized.’"^' 

With which quip against the Anabaptists of his day. Fuller 
ends his story; and I leave him, to set forth how Amyas, in 
fear of these same Scythians and heathens, rode out of Ply- 
mouth on a right good horse, in his full suit of armor, carrying 
lance and sword, and over and above two great dags, or horse- 
pistols ; and behind him Salvation Yeo, and five or six north 
Devon men (who had served with him in Ireland, and were re- 
turning on furlough), clad in head-pieces and quilted jerkins, 
each man with his pike and sword, and Yeo with arquebuse 
and match, while two sumpter ponies carried the baggage of this 
formidable troop. 

They pushed on as fast as they could through Tavistock, to 
reach before nightfall Lydford, where they meant to sleep ; but 
what, with buying the horses, and other delays, they had not 
been able to start before noon ; and night fell just as they 
reached the frontiers of the enemy’s country. A dreary place 
enough it was, by the wild glare of sunset. A high table-land 
of heath, banked on the right by the crags and hills of Dartmoor, 
and sloping away to the south and west toward the foot of the 
great cone of Brent-Tor, which towered up like an extinct volca- 
noe (as some say that it really is), crowned with the tiny church, 
the votive offering of some Plymouth merchant of old times, who 
vowed in sore distress to build a church to the Blessed Virgin 
on the first point of English land which he should see. Far 
away, down those waste slopes, they could see the tiny threads 
of blue smoke rising from the dens of the Gubbings ; and more 
than once they called a halt, to examine whether distant furze- 
bushes and ponies might not be the patrols of an advancing 
army. It is all very well to laugh at it now, in the nineteenth 
century, but it was no laughing matter then; as they found 
before they had gone two miles further. 

* Fuller, p. 898. 


SLEW THE KING OF THE CUBBINGS. 267 

On the middle of the down stood a wayside inn ; a desolate 
and villanous-looking lump of lichen-spotted granite, with win- 
dows paper-patched, and rotting thatch kept down by stones and 
straw-bands ; and at the back a rambling courtledge of barns 
and walls, around which pigs and barefoot children grunted in 
loving communion of dirt. At the door, rapt apparently in the 
contemplation of the mountain peaks which glowed rich orange 
in the last lingering sun-rays, but really watching which way 
the sheep on the moor were taking, stood the innkeeper, a 
brawny, sodden- visaged, blear-eyed six feet of brutishness, 
holding up his hose with one hand, for want of points, and 
clawing with the other his elf-locks, on which a fair sprinkling 
of feathers might denote ; first, that he was just out of bed, 
having been out sheep-stealing all the night before ; and sec- 
ondly, that by natural genius he had anticipated the opinion of 
that great apostle of sluttishness, Fridericus Dedekind, and his 
faithful disciple Dekker, which last speaks thus to all gulls and 
grobians : — ‘ Consider that as those trees of cobweb lawn, 
woven by spinners in the fresh May mornings, do dress the 
curled heads of the mountains, and adorn the swelling bosoms 
of the valleys ; or as those snowy fleeces, which the naked 
briar steals from the innocent sheep to make himself a warm 
winter livery, are, to either of them, both an excellent orna- 
ment ; so make thou account, that to have feathers sticking here 
and there on thy head will embellish thee, and set thy crown 
out rarely. None dare upbraid thee, that like a beggar thou 
hast lain on straw, or like a travelling pedler upon musty flocks ; 
for those feathers will rise up as witnesses to choke him that 
says so, and to prove thy bed to have been of the softest 
down.’ Even so did those feathers bear witness that the pos- 
sessor of Rogues’ Harbor Inn, on Brent-Tor Down, whatever 
else he lacked, lacked not geese enough to keep him in soft 
lying. 

Presently he spies Amyas and his party coming slowly over 
the hill, pricks up his ears, and counts them ; sees Amyas’s 
armor ; shakes his head and grunts ; and then, being a man of 
few words, utters a sleepy howl — 

‘ Mirooi ! — Pushing pooale ! ’ 

A strapping lass — whose only covering (for country women 
at work in those days dispensed with the ornament of a gown) 
is a green boddice and red petticoat, neither of them over 
ample — brings out his fishing-rod and basket, and the man, 
having tied up his hose with some ends of string, examines the 
footlink. 

‘ Don vlies’ gone ! ’ 


268 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


‘ Maybe,’ says Mary ; ‘ shouldn’t hav’ left mun out to coort 
Maybe old hen’s ate mun olf. I see her chocking about a 
while agone.’ 

The host receives this intelligence with an oath, and replies 
by a violent blow at Mary’s head, which she, accustomed to 
such slight matters, dodges, and then returns the blow with good 
effect on the shock head. 

Whereon mine host, equally accustomed to such slight mat- 
ters, quietly shambles off, howling as he departs — 

‘ Tell patrico ! ’ 

Mary runs in, combs her hair, slips a pair of stockings and 
her best gown over her dirt, and awaits the coming guests, who 
make a few long faces at the ‘ mucksy sort of. a place,’ but 
prefer to spend the night there than to bivouac close to the 
enemy’s camp. 

So the old hen who has swallowed the dun fly is killed, 
plucked, and roasted, and certain ‘ black Dartmoor mutton ’ is 
put on the gridiron, and being compelled to confess the truth by 
that fiery torment, proclaims itself to all noses as red-deer 
venison. In the meanwhile, Amyas has put his horse and the 
ponies into a shed, to which he can find neither lock nor key, 
and therefore returns grumbling, not without fear for his steeds’ 
safety. The baggage is heaped in a corner of the room, and 
Amyas stretches his legs before a turf fire ; while Yeo, who has 
his notions about the place, posts himself at the door, and the 
men are seized with a desire to superintend the cooking, proba- 
-bly to be attributed to the fact that Mary is cook. 

Presently Yeo comes in again. 

‘ There’s a gentleman just coming up. Sir, all alone.’ 

‘ Ask him to make one of our parly, then, with my compli- 
ments.’ 

Yeo goes out, and returns in five minutes. 

‘ Please, Sir, he’s gone in back ways, by the court.’ 

‘Well, he has an odd taste, if he makes himself at home 
here.’ 

Out goes Yeo again, and comes back once more, after five 
minutes, in high excitement. 

‘ Come out. Sir ; for goodness’ sake come out. I’ve got him. 
Safe as a rat in a trap, I have ! ’ 

‘ Who ? ’ 

‘ A Jesuit, Sir.’ 

‘ Nonsense, man ! ’ 

‘ 1 tell you truth. Sir. I went round the house, for I didn’t 
like the looks of him as he came up.‘ 1 knew he was one of 
them villains the minute he came up, by the way he turned in 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 


269 


his toes, and put down his feet so still and careful, like as if be 
was afraid Of offending God at every step. So I just put my 
eye between the wall and the dern of the gate, and I saw him 
come up to the back door and knock, and call “ Mary ! ” quite 
still, like any Jesuit; and the wench flies out to him ready to 
eat him^ and “ Go away,” I heard her say, “ there’s a dear 
man and then something about a “ queer cuffin,” (that’s a 
justice in these canters’ thieves’ Latin) ; and with that he takes 
out a somewhat — I’ll swear it was one of those Popish Agnus- 
es — and gives it her: and she kisses it, and crosses herself, 
and asks him if that’s the right way, and then puts it into her 
bosom, and he says, “Bless you, my daughter;” and then I 
was sure of the dog ; and he slips quite still to the stable, and 
peeps in, and when he sees no one there, in he goes, and out I 
go, and shut to the door, and back a cart that was there up 
against it, and call out one of the' men to watch the stable, and 
the girl’s crying like mad.’ 

‘ What a fool’s trick, man ! How do you know that he is 
not some honest gentleman, after all ? ’ 

• ‘ Fool or none. Sir ; honest gentlemen don’t give maidens 
Agnuses. I’ve put him in ; and if you want him let out again, 
you must come and do it yourself, f^or my conscience is against 
it. Sir. If the Lord’s enemies are delivered into my hand. I’m 
answerable. Sir,’ went on Yep as Amyas hurried out with him, 
‘ ’Tis written, “ If any let one' of them go, his life shall be for 
the life of him.” ’ 

So Amyas ran out, pulled back the cart grumbling, opened 
the door, and began a string of apologies to — his cousin 
Eustace. 

Yes, here he was, with such a countenance, half foolish, half 
venomous, as Reynard wears when the last spadeful of earth is 
thrown back, and he is revealed sitting disconsolately on his 
tail within a yard of the terriers’ noses. 

Neither cousin spoke for a minute or two. At last Amy- 
as, — 

‘ Well, cousin hide-and-seek, how long have you added horse- 
stealing to your other trades ? ’ 

‘ My dear Amyas,’ said Eustace very meekly, ‘ I may surely 
go into an inn stable without intending to steal what is in it.’ 

‘ Of course, old fellow,’ said Amyas, mollified, ‘ I was only 
in jest. But what brings you here ? Not prudence, certain- 
ly-’ 

‘ I am bound to know no prudence save for the Lord’s 
work.’ 


23 * 


270 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


‘ That’s giving away Agnus Deis, and deceiving poor heathen 
winches, I suppose,’ said Yeo. 

Eustace answered pretty roundly, — 

‘ Heathens ? Yes, truly ; you Protestants leave these poor 
wretches heathens, and then insult and persecute those who, 
with a devotion unknown to you, labor at the danger of their 
lives to make them Christians. Mr. Amyas Leigh, you can 
give me up to be hanged at Exeter, if it shall so please you to 
disgrace your own family ; but from this spot neither you, no, 
nor all the myrmidons of your Queen, shall drive me, while 
there is a soul here left unsaved.’ 

‘ Come out of the stable, at least,’ said Amyas ; ‘ you don’t 
want to make the horses Papists, as well as the asses, do you ? 
Come out, man, and go to the devil your own way. I shan’t 
inform against you ; and Yeo here will hold his tongue if I tell 
him, I know.’ 

‘ It goes sorely against my conscience. Sir ; but being that 
he is’your cousin, of course — ’ 

‘ Of course ; and now come in and eat with me ; supper’s just 
ready, and bygones shall be bygones, if you will have them 
so.’ 

How much forgiveness Eustace felt in his heart, I know not : 
but he knew of course, that he ought to forgive ; and to go in and 
eat with Amyas was to perform an act of forgiveness, and for 
the best of motives, too, for by it the cause of the Church 
might be furthered ; and acts and motives being correct, what 
more was needed ? So in he went ; and yet he never forgot 
that scar upon his cheek ; and Amyas could not look him in 
the face, but Eustace must fancy that his eyes were on the scar, 
and peep up from under his lids, to see if there was any smile 
of triumph on that honest visage. They talked away over the 
venison, guardedly enough at first : but, as they went on, Amy- 
as’s straightforward kindliness warmed poor Eustace’s frozen 
heart; and, ere they were aware, they found themselves talking 
over old haunts and old .passages of their boyhood — uncles, 
aunts, and cousins ; and Eustace, without any sinister intention, 
asked Amyas why he was going to Bideford, while Frank and 
his mother were in London. 

‘ To tell you the truth, I cannot rest till I have heard the 
whole story about poor Rose Salterne.’ 

‘ What about her? ’ cried Eustace. 

‘ Do you not know ? ’ 

‘ How should I know anything here ? For heaven’s sake, 
>vhat has happened ? ’ 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 


271 


Amyas told him, wondering at his eagerness, for he had never 
had the least suspicion of Eustace’s love. 

Eustace shrieked aloud. 

‘ Fool, fool that I have been ! Caught in my own trap ! 
Villain, villain that he is ! After all he promised me at Lun- 
dy ! ’ 

And springing up, Eustace stamped up and down the room, 
gnashing his teeth, tossing his head from side to side, and 
clutching with outstretched hands at the empty air, with the 
horrible gesture (Heaven grant that no reader has ever witnessed 
it !) of that despair which still seeks blindly for the object 
which it knows is lost for ever. 

Amyas sat thunderstruck. His first impulse was to ask, 

‘ Lundy ? What knew you of him ? What had he or you to 
do at Lundy ? ’ but pity conquered curiosity. 

‘ Oh, Eustace ! And you then loved her too ? ’ 

‘ Don’t speak to me ! Loved her Yes, Sir, and had as 
good a right to love her as any one of your precious Brother- 
hood of the Rose. Don’t speak to me, I say, or I shall do you 
a mischief! ’ 

So Eustace knew of the brotherhood too ! Amyas longed to 
ask him how ; but what use in that If he knew it, he knew 
it : and what harm ? So he only answered, — 

‘ My good cousin, why be wroth with me ? If you really 
love her, now is the time to take counsel with me how best we 
shall — ’ 

Eustace did not let him finish his sentence. Conscious that 
he had betrayed himself upon more points than one, he stopped 
short in his walk, suddenly collected himself by one great 
effort, and eyed Amyas from underneath his brows with the 
old down look. 

‘ How best we shall do what, my valiant cousin ? ’ said he, 
in a meaning and half scornful voice. ‘ What does your 
most chivalrous Brotherhood of the Rose purpose in such a 
case ? ’ 

Amyas, a little nettled, stood on his guard in return, and 
answered bluntly, — 

‘ What the Brotherhood of the Rose will do, I can’t yet say. 
What it ought to do, 1 have a pretty sure guess.’ 

‘ So have h To hunt her down as you would an outlaw, 
because forsooth she has dared to love a Catholic ; to murder 
her lover in her arms, and drag her home again, stained with 
his blood, to be forced, by threats and persecution, to renounce 
that Church into whose maternal bosom she has doubtless long 
since found rest and holiness ! ’ 


272 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


‘ If she has found holiness, it matters little to me where she 
has found it, Master Eustace : but that is the very point that 1 
should be glad to know for certain.’ 

‘ And you will go and discover for yourself.? ’ . 

‘ Have you no wish to discover it also ? ’ 

‘ And if 1 had, what would that be to you .? ’ 

‘ Only,’ said Amyas, trying hard to keep his temper, ‘ that, 
if we had the same purpose, we might sail in the same ship.’ 

‘ You intend to sail, then .? ’ * 

‘ 1 mean simply, that we might work together.’ 

‘ Our paths lie on very different roads, Sir ! ’ 

‘ I am afraid you never spoke a truer word. Sir. In the 
meanwhile, ere we part, be so kind as to tell me what you 
meant by saying that you had met this Spaniard at Lundy .? ’ 

‘ I shall refuse to answer that.’ 

‘You will please to recollect, Eustace, that however good 
friends we have been for the last half-hour, you are in my 
power. I have a right to know the bottom of this matter ; and 
by Heaven I will know it ! ’ 

‘ In your power .? see that you are not in mine ! Remember, 
Sir, that you are within a — within a few miles, at least, of 
those who will obey me, their Catholic benefactor : but who 
owe no allegiance to those Protestant authorities who have left 
them to the lot of the beasts which perish.’ 

Amyas was'very angry. He wanted but little more to make 
him catch Eustace by the shoulders, shake the life out of him, 
and deliver him into the tender guardianship of Yeo : but he 
knew that to take him at all was to bring certain death on him, 
and disgrace on the family ; and, remembering Frank’s con- 
duct on that memorable night at Clovelly, he kept himself 
down. 

‘ Take me,’ said Eustace, ‘ if you will, Sir ! You who com- 
plain of us that we keep no faith with heretics, will perhaps 
recollect that you asked me into this room as your guest ; and 
that in your good faith I trusted, when I entered it.’ 

The argument was a worthless one in law ; for Eustace had 
been a prisoner before he was a guest, and Amyas was guilty 
of something very like misprision of treason in not handing 
him over to the nearest justice. However, all he did was, to 
go to the door, open it, and, bowing to his cousin, bid him walk 
out and go to the devil, since he seemed to have set his mind 
on ending his days in the company of that personage. 

Whereon Eustace vanished. 

‘ Pooh ! ’ said Amyas to himself : ‘ I can find out enough, 
and too much, I fear, without the help of such crooked vermin. 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 


273 


I must see Cary ; I must see Salterne ; and, I suppose, if I am 
ready to do rny duty, I shall learn somehow what it is. Now 
to sleep ; to-morrow up and away to what God sends.’ 

‘ Come in hither, men,’ shouted he down the passage, ‘ and 
sleep here. Haven’t you had enough of this villanous sour 
cider ? ’ 

The men came in yawning, and settled themselves to sleep 
on the floor. 

‘ Where’s Yeo ? ’ 

No one knew ; he had gone out to say his prayers, and had 
not returned. 

‘ Never mind,’ said Amyas, who suspected some plot on the 
old man’s part. ‘ He’ll take care of himself. I’ll warrant him.’ 

‘ No fear of that. Sir,’ and the four tars were soon snoring in 
concert round the fire, while Amyas laid himself on the settle, 
with his saddle for a pillow.’ 

It was about midnight, when Amyas leaped to his feet, or 
rather fell upon his back, upsetting saddle, settle, and finally, 
table, under the notion that ten thousand flying dragons were 
bursting in the window close to his ear, with howls most fierce 
and fell. The flying dragons past, however, being only a flock 
of terror-stricken geese, which flew flapping and screaming 
round the corner of the house : but the noise which had startled 
them did not pass ; and another minute made it evident that a 
sharp fight was going on in the court-yard, and that Yeo was 
hallooing lustily for help. 

Out turned the men, sword in hand, burst the back door 
open, stumbling over pails and pitchers, and into the court- 
yard, where Yeo, his back against the stable-door, was holding 
his own manfully with sword and buckler against a dozen men. 

Dire and manifold was the screaming ; geese screamed, 
chickens screamed, pigs screamed, donkeys Screamed, Mary 
screamed from an upper window ; and to complete the chorus, 
a flock of plovers, attracted by the noise, wheeled round and 
round over head, and added their screams also to that Dutch 
concert. 

The screaming went bn, but the fight ceased ; for, as Amyas 
rushed into the yard, the whole party of ruffians took to their 
heels, and vanished over a low hedge at the other end of the 
yard. 

‘ Are you hurt, Yeo > ’ 

‘ Not a scratch, thank heaven ! But I’ve got two of them, 
the ringleaders, I have. One of them’s against the wall. Your 
horse did for t’other.’ 


274 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


The wounded man was lifted up ; a huge ruffian, nearly as 
big as Amyas himself. Yeo’s sword had passed through his 
body. He groaned and choked for breath. 

‘ Carry him in doors. Where is the other ? ’ 

‘ Dead as a herring, in the straw. Have a care, men, have 
a care how you go in ! the horses are near mad ! ’ 

However, the man was brought out after awhile. With him 
all was over. They could -feel neither pulse nor breath. ^ 

‘ Carry him in, too, poor wretch. And now, Yeo, what is 
the meaning of all this ? ’ 

Yeo’s story was soon told. He could not get out of his 
Puritan head the notion (quite unfounded, of course), that 
Eustace had meant to steal the horses. He had' seen the inn- 
keeper sneak off at their approach ; and expecting some night- 
attack, he had taken up his lodging for the night in the stable. 

As he expected, an attempt was made. The door was 
opened (how, he could not guess, for he had fastened it inside), 
and two fellows came in, and began to loose the beasts. Yeo’s 
account was, that he seized the big fellow, who drew a knife 
on him, and broke loose ; the horses, terrified at the scuffle, 
kicked right and left ; one man fell, and the other ran out, 
calling for help, with Yeo at his heels; ‘ Whereon,’ said Yeo, 
‘seeing a dozen more on me with clubs and bows, I thought 
best to shorten the number while I could, ran the rascal through, 
and stood on my ward ; and only just in time I was, what’s more ; 
there’s two arrows in the house wall, and two or three more in 
my buckler, which I caught up as I went out, for I had hung it 
close by the door, you see. Sir, to be all ready in case : ’ said 
the cunning old Philistine-slayer, as they went in after the 
wounded man. 

But hardly had they stumbled through the low door-way 
into the back kitchen, when a fresh hubbub arose inside — 
more shouts for help. Amyas ran forward, breaking his head 
against the door-way, and beheld, hs soon as he could see for 
the flashes in his eyes, an old acquaintance, held on each side 
by a sturdy sailor. 

With one arm in the sleeve of his doublet, and the other in a 
not over spotless shirt ; holding up his hose with one hand, and 
with the other a candle, whereby he had lighted himself to his 
own confusion; foaming with rage, stood Mr. Evan Morgans, 
alias Father Parsons, looking, between his confused habiliments 
and his fiery visage (as Yeo told him to his face), ‘ the very 
moral of a half-plucked turkey-cock.’ And behind him, dressed, 
stood Eustace Leigh. 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. • 275 

‘ We found the maid letting these here two out by the front 
door;’ said one of the captors. 

‘ Well, Mr. Parsons,’ said Amyas, ‘and what are you about 
here ? A pretty nest of thieves and Jesuits we seem to have 
routed out this evening.’ 

‘ About my calling, Sir,’ said Parsons stoutly, ‘ by your 
leave, I shall prepare this niy wounded lamb for that account 
to which your man’s cruelty has untimely sent him.’ 

The wounded man, who lay upon the floor, heard Parsons’ 
voice, and moaned for the ‘ Patrico.’ 

‘ You see. Sir,’ said he, pompously, ‘ the sheep know their 
shepherd’s voice.’ 

‘ The wolves, you mean, you hypocritical scoundrel ? ’ said 
Amyas, who could not contain his disgust. ‘ Let the fellow 
truss up his points, lads, and do his work. After all, the man 
is dying.’ 

‘ The requisite matters. Sir, are not at hand,’ said Parsons, 
unabashed. 

‘ Eustace, go and fetch his matters for him-: you seem to be 
in al Jhis plots.’ 

Eustace went silently and sullenly. 

‘ What’s that fresh noise at the back, now ? ’ 

‘The maid, Sir, a wailing over her uncle; the fellow that 
we saw sneak away when we came up. It was him the horse 
killed.’ 

It was true. The wretched host had slipped off on their 
approach, simply to call the neighboring outlaws to the spoil ; 
and he had been filled with the fruit of his own devices. 

‘ His blood be on hjs own head,’ said Amyas. 

‘ I question, Sir, said Yeo, in a low voice, ‘ whether some of 
it will not be on the heads of those proud prelates who go 
clothed in fine purple and linen, instead of going forth to con- 
vert such as he, and then wonder how these Jesuits get hold of 
them. If they give place to the devil in their . sheepfolds, sure 
he’ll come in and lodge there. Look, Sir, there’s a sight in a 
gospel land ! ’ 

And, indeed, the sight was curious enough. For Parsons 
was kneeling by the side of the dying man, listening earnestly 
to the confession which the man sobbed out in his gibberish 
between the spasms of his wounded chest. Now and then Par- 
sons shook his head ; and when Eustace returned with the holy 
wafer, and the oil for extreme unction, he asked him, in a low 
voice, ‘ Ballard, interpret for me.’ 

And Eustace knelt down on the other side of the sufferer, 
and interpreted his thieves’ dialect into Latin ; and the dying 


'276 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


men held a hand of each, and turned first to one and then to 
the other stupid eyes, — not without affection, though,^ and 
gratitude. 

‘ I can’t stand this mummery any longer,’ said Yeo. ‘ Here’s 
a soul perishing before my eyes, and it’s on my conscience to 
speak a word in season.’ 

‘Silence ! ’ whispered Amyas, holding him back by the arm : 

‘ he knows them, and he don’t know you ; they are the first 
who ever spoke to him as if he had a soul to be saved, and 
first come, first served ; you can do no good. See, the man’s 
face is brightening already.’ 

‘ But, Sir, His a false peace.’ 

‘ At all events he is confessing his sins, Yeo ; and if that’s 
not good for him, and you, and me, what is ? ’ 

‘ Yea, Amen, Sir ! but this is not to the right person.’ 

‘ How do yo‘u know his words will not go to the right person 
after all, though he may not send them there ? By heaven ! 
the man is dead ! ’ 

It was so. The dark catalogue of brutal deeds had been 
gasped out ; but, ere the words of absolution could follow, the 
head had fallen back, and all was over. 

‘ Confession in extremis is sufficient,’ said Parsons to Eustace 
(‘ Ballard,’ as Parsons ^called him, to Amyas’s surprise), as he 
rose. ‘ As for the rest, the intention will be accepted instead 
of the act.’ 

‘ The lord have mercy on his soul ! ’ said Eustace. 

‘ His soul is lost before our very eyes,’ said Yeo. 

‘ Mind your own business,’ said Amyas. 

‘ Humph ; but I’ll tell you, Sir, what our business is, if you’ll 
step aside with me. I find that poor fellow that lies dead is 
none other than the leader of the Gubbings ; the king of them, 
as they dare to call him.’ 

‘ Well, what of that ? ’ 

‘ iVIark my words. Sir, if we have not a hundred stout rogues 
upon us before* two hours are out ; forgive us they never will ; 
and if we get off with our lives, which I don’t much expect, we 
shall leave our horses behind ; for we can hold the house. Sir, 
well enough till morning : but the court-yard we can’t, that’s 
certain ! ’ 

‘ We had better march at once, then.’ 

‘Think, Sir, if they catch us up — as they are sure to do, 
knowing the country better than we — how will our shot stand 
their arrows ? ’ 

‘ True, old wisdom ; we must keep the road ; and we must 
keep together ; 'and so be a mark for them, while they will be 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 277 

behind every rock and bank ; and two or three flights of arrows 
will do our business for us. Humph ! stay, I have a plan.’ 
And stepping forward, he spoke, — 

‘ Eustace will you be so kind as to go back to your lambs, 
and tell them, that if they meddle with us cruel wolves again 
to-night, we are ready and willing to fight to the death, and 
have plenty of shot and powder at their service. Father Par- 
sons you will be so kind as to accompany us ; it is but fitting 
that the shepherd should be hostage for his sheep. 

‘If you carry me off this spot, Sir, you carry my corpse 
only,’ said Parsons. ‘ I may as well die here as be hanged 
elsewhere, like my martyred brother Campian.’ 

‘ If you take him you must take me, too,’ said Eustace. 

‘ What if we won’t ? ’ 

‘ How will you gain by that ? you can only leave me here. 
You cannot make me go to the Gubbings, if I do not choose.’ 

Amyas uttered, sotto voce^ an anathema on Jesuits, Gub- 
bings, and things in general. He was in a great hurry to get 
to Bideford, and he feared that this business would delay him, 
as it was, a day or two. He wanted to hang Parsons; he did 
not want to hang Eustace ; and Eustace, he knew, was well 
aware of that latter fact, and played his game accordingly : but 
time ran on, and he had to answer sulkily enough, — 

‘ Well, then ; if you, Eustace, will go and give my message 
to your converts, I will promise to set Mr. Parsons free again 
before we come to Lydford town ; and I advise you, if you have 
any regard for his life, to see that your eloquence be persuasive 
enough ; for, as sure as I am an Englishman, and he none, if 
the Gubbings attack us, the first bullet that I shall fire at them 
will have gone through his scoundrelly brains.’ 

Parsons still kicked. 

‘ Very well, then, my merry men all. Tie this gentleman’s 
hands behind his back, get the horses out, and we’ll right away 
up into Dartmoor, find a good high tor, stand our ground there 
till morning, and then carry him into Okehampton to the near- 
egt justice. If he chooses to delay me in my journey, it is fair 
that I should make him pay for it.’ 

Whereon Parsons gave in, and being fast tied by his arm to 
Amyas’s saddle, trudged alongside his horse for several weary 
miles, while Yeo walked by his side, like a friar by a con- 
demned criminal ; and, in order to keep up his spirits, told him 
the woeful end of Nicholas Saunders, the Legate, and how he 
was found starved to death in a bog. 

‘And if you wish. Sir, to follow in his blessed steps, which I 
heartily hope you will do, you have only to go over that big 


278 


HOW SALVATION YfO 


cow-backed hill there on your right hand, and down again the 
other side to Crawmere pool, and there you’ll find as pretty a 
bog to die in as ever Jesuit needed ; and your ghost may sit 
there on the grass turnmock, and tell your beads without any one 
asking for you till the day of judgment ; and much good may 
it do you ! ’ 

At which imagination Yeo was actually heard, for the first 
and last time in this history, to laugh most heartily. 

His ho-ho’s had scarcely died away, when they saw shining , 
under the moon the old tower of Lydford Castle. 

‘ Cast the fellow off now,’ said Amyas. 

‘ Ay, ay. Sir ! ’ and Yeo and Simon Evans stopped behind, 
and did not come up for ten minutes after. 

‘ What have you been about so long ? ’ 

‘ Why, Sir,’ said Evans, ‘ you see the man had a very fair 
pair of hose on, and a bran-new kersey doublet, very warm- 
lined ; and so, thinking it a pity good clothes should be wasted 
on such noxious trade, we’ve just brought them along with us.’ 

‘ Spoiling the Egyptians,’ said Yeo, as comment. 

‘ And what have you done with the man ? ’ 

‘ Hove him over the bank. Sir ; he pitched into a big furze- 
bush, and, for aught I know, there he’ll bide.’ 

‘ You rascal, have you killed him ? ’ 

‘Never fear. Sir,’ said Yeo, in his cool fashion. ‘A Jesuit 
has as many lives as a cat, and, I believe, rides broomsticks 
post like a witch. He would be at Lydford now before us, if 
his master Satan had any business for him there.’ 

Leaving on their left Lydford and its ill-omened castle 
(which a century after, was one of the principal scenes of 
Judge Jeffreys’ cruelty,) Amyas and his party trudged on 
through the mire toward Okehampton till sunrise ; and, ere the 
vapors had lifted from the mountain tops, they were descend- 
ing the long slopes from Sourton down, while Yestor and 
Amicombe slept steep and black beneath their misty pall ; and 
roaring far below unseen, 

‘ Ockment leapt from crag and cloud 
Down her cataracts, laughing loud.’ 

The voice of the stream recalled those words to Amyas’s 
mind. The nymph of Torridge had spoken them upon the day 
of his triumph. He recollected, too, his vexation on that day 
at not seeing Rose Salterne. Why, he had never seen her 
since. Never seen her now for six years and more ! Of her 
ripened beauty he knew only by hearsay ; she was still to him 
the lovely fifteen years’ girl, for whose sake he had smitten the 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GHBBINGS. 


279 


Barnstaple draper over the quay. What a chain of petty acci- 
dents-had kept them from meeting, though so often within a 
mile of each other! ‘ And what a lucky one I ’ said practical 
old Arnyas himself. ‘If I had seen her as she is now, I might 
have loved her as Frank does — poor Frank ! what will he say ? 
What does he say, for he must know it already .? And what 
ought I to say — to do rather, for talking is no use on this side 
the grave, nor on the other either, I expect ? ’ And then he 
asked himself, whether his old oath meant nothing or some- 
thing ; whether it was a mere tavern frolic, or a sacred duty. 
And he held, the more that he looked at it, that it meant the 
latter. 

But what could he do } He had nothing on earth but his 
sword, so he could not travel to find her. After all, she might 
not be gone far. Perhaps not gone at all. It might be a mis- 
take, an exaggerated scandal. He would hope so. And yet it 
was evident that there had been some passages between her and 
Don Guzman. Eustace’s mysterious words about the promise 
at Lundy proved that. The villain! He had felt all along 
that he was a villain : but just the one to win a woman’s heart, 
too. Frank had been away — all the brotherhood away. What 
a fool he had been to turn the wolf loose into the sheep-fold I 
And yet who would have dreamed of it ? 

‘ At all events,’ said Amyas, trying to comfort himself; ‘I 
need not complain. I have lost nothing. I stood no more 
chance of her against Frank than I should have stood against 
the Don. So there is no use for me to cry about the matter.’ 
And he tried to hum a tune concerning the general frailty of 
women, but nevertheless, like Sir Hugh, felt that ‘ he had a 
great dispositions to. cry.’ 

He never had expected to win her, and yet it seemed bitter 
to know that she was lost to him for ever. It was not so easy 
for a heart of his make to toss away the image of a first love : 
and all the less easy, because that image was stained and 
ruined. 

‘ Curses on the man who had done that deed ! I will yet 
have his heart’s blood somehow, if I go round the world again 
to find him. If there is no law for it on earth, there’s a law in 
heaven, or I’m much mistaken.’ 

With which determination he rode into the ugly, dirty, and 
stupid town of Okehampton, with which fallen man (by some 
strange perversity) has chosen to defile one of the loveliest sites 
in the pleasant land of Devon. And heartily did Amyas abuse 
the old town that day ; for he was detained there, as he expect- 
ed, full three hours, while the Justice Shallow of the place was 


280 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


sent for from his farm (whither he had gone at sunrise, after the 
early-rising fashion of those days) to take Yeo’s deposition con- 
cerning last night’s affray. Moreover, when Shallow came, he 
refused to take the depositions, because they ought to have been 
made before a brother Shallow at Lydford ; and, in the wrang- 
ling which ensued, was very near finding out what Amyas 
(fearing fresh loss of time and worse evils beside) had com- 
manded to be concealed, namely, the presence of Jesuits in that 
Moorland Utopia. Then, in broadest Devon, — 

‘ And do you call this .Christian conduct. Sir, to set a quiet 
man like me upon they Gubbings, as if I was going to risk my 
precious life — no, nor ever a constable to Okehampton neither 
Let Lydfor’ men mind Lydfor’ roogs, and by Lydfor’ law if 
they will, hang first and try after ; but, as for me, I’ve rade my 
Bible, and “ He that meddleth with strife is like him that taketh 
a dog by the ears.” So, if you choose to sit down and ate your 
breakfast with . me, well and good : but depositions I’ll have 
none. If your man is enquired for, you’ll be answerable for 
his appearing in course ; but I expect mortally’ (with a wink), 
‘ you waint hear much moor of the matter from any hand. 
“ Leave well alone is a good rule, but leave ill alone is a bet- 
ter.” — So we says round about here; and so you’ll say. Cap- 
tain when you be so old as I.’ 

So Amyas sat down and ate his breakfast, and went on after- 
wards a long and weary day’s journey, till he saw at last 
beneath him the broad shining river, and the lon^g bridge, and 
the white houses piled up the hill-side ; and beyond, over 
Raleigh downs, the dear old ‘tower of Northam Church. 

Alas, Northam was altogether a desert to him then ; and 
Bideford, as it turned out, hardly less so. For when he rode up 
to Sir Richard’s door, he found that the good Knight was still in 
Ireland, and lady Grenvile at Stow. Whereupon he rode back 
again down the High-street to that same bow-windowed Ship 
Tavern where the Brotherhood of the Rose made their vow, 
and settled himself in the very room where they had supped. 

‘Ah! Mr. Leigh — Captain Leigh now, I beg pardon,’ quoth 
mine host. ‘ Bideford is an empty place now-a-days, and noth- 
ing stirring. Sir. What with Sir Richard to Ireland, and Sir 
John to London, and all the young gentlemen to the wars, 
there’s no one to buy good liquor, and no one to court the young 
ladies, neither. Sack, Sir ? I hope so. 1 haven’t brewed a 
gallon of it this fortnight, if you’ll believe me ; ale. Sir, and 
aqua vitJB, and such low-bred trade, is all I draw now-a-days. 
Try a pint of sherry. Sir, now, to give you an appetite. You 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 


281 


mind my sherry of old ? Jane ! sherry and sugar, quick, while 
I pull off the Captain’s boots.’ 

Amyas sat weary and sad, while the innkeeper chattered on. 

‘Ah, Sir! two or three like you would set the young ladies 
all alive again. By-the-bye, there’s been strange doings among 
them since you were here last. You mind Mistress Salterne.?’ 

‘ For God’s sake, dont let us have that story, man ! I heard 
enough of it at Plymouth ! ’ said Amyas, in so disturbed a tone 
that mine host looked up, and said to himself, — 

‘ Ah, poor young gentleman, he’s one of the hard-hit ones.’ 

‘ How is the old man ? ’ asked Amyas, after a pause. 

‘Bears it well enough. Sir; but a changed man. Never 
speaks to a soul, if he can help it. Some folk say he’s not 
right in his head ; or turned miser, or somewhat, and takes 
nought but bread and water, and sits up all night in the room as 
was hers, turning over her garments. Heaven knows what’s on 
his mind — they do say he was over hard on her, and that drove 
her to it. All I know is, he has never been in here for a drop 
of liquor (and he came as regular every evening as the town 
clock, Sir) since she went, except a ten days ago, and then he 
met young Mr. Cary at the door, and I heard him ask Mr. Cary 
when you would be home. Sir.’ 

‘ Put on my boots again. Pll go and see him.’ 

‘ Bless you. Sir! What, without your sack ? ’ 

‘ Drink it yourself, man.’ 

‘ But you wouldn’t go out again this time o’ night on an 
empty stomach, now ? ’ 

‘ Fill my men’s stomachs for them, and never mind mine. 
It’s market day, is it not ? Send out and see whether Mr. 
Cary is still in town ; ’ and Amyas strode out, and along the 
quay to Bridgeland Street, and knocked at Mr. Salterne’s door. 

Salterne himself opened it with his usual stern courtesy. 

‘ I saw you coming up the street. Sir. I have been expecting 
this honor from you for some time past. I dreamt of you only 
last night, and many a night before that too. Welcome, Sir, 
into a lonely house. I trust the good knight, your general, is 
well.’ 

‘ The good knight, my general, is with God who made him, 
Mr. Salterne.’ 

‘ Dead, Sir.’ 

‘ Foundered at sea on our way home ; and the Delight lost 
too.’ 

‘ Humph ! ’ growled Salterne, after a minute’s silence. ‘ I 
had a venture in her. I suppose it’s gone. No matter — lean 
afford it, Sir, and more, I trust. And he was three years 
24 * 


282 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


younger than I! And Draper Heard was buried yesterday, 
five years younger. How is it that every one can die, except 
me ? Come in, Sir, come in ; I have forgotten my manners.’ 

And he led Amyas into his parlor, and called to the appren- 
tices to run one way, and to the cook to run another. 

‘ You must not trouble yourself to get me supper, indeed.’ 

‘ I must, though, Sir, and the best of wine too ; and old Sal- 
terne had a good tap of Alicant in old time, old time, old time. 
Sir ! and you must drink it now, whether he does or not ! ’ 
and out he bustled. 

Amyas sat still, wondering what was coming next, and 
puzzled at the sudden hilarity of the man, as well as his hos- 
pitality, so different from what the innkeeper had led him to 
expect. 

In a minute more one of the apprentices came in to lay the 
cloth, and Amyas questioned him about his master. 

‘ Thank the Lord that you are come, Sir,’ said the lad. 

‘ Why then ? ’ 

‘ Because there’ll be a chance of us poor fellows getting a 
little broken meat. We’m half-starved this three months — 
bread and dripping, bread and dripping, oh dear, Sir ! And 
now he’s sent out to the inn for chickens, and game, and 
salads, and all that money can buy, and down in the cellar, 
haling out the best of wine.’ And the lad smacked his Ups 
audibly at the thought. 

‘ Is he out of his mind ? ’ 

‘ I can’t tell ; he saith as how he must save mun’s money 
now-a-days ; for he’ve a got a great venture on hand ; but what 
a be he lell’ih no man. They call’th mun “ bread and dripping” 
now. Sir, all town over,’ said the ’prentice, confidentially, to 
Amyas. 

‘ They do, do they, sirrah ! Then they will call me bread 
and no dripping to-morrow ! ’ and old Salterne, entering from 
behind, made a dash at the poor fellow’s ears ; but luckily 
thought better of it, having a couple of bottles in each hand. 

‘ My dear Sir,’ said Amyas, ‘ you don’t mean us to drink all 
that wine ? ’ 

‘Why not. Sir.?’ answered Salterne, in a grim, half-sneer- 
ing tone, thrusting out his square-grizzled beard and chin. 
‘Why not. Sir.? why should 1 not make merry when I have 
the honor of a noble captain in my house.? one who has sailed 
. the seas, Sir, and cut Spaniards’ throats ; and may cut them 
again too ; eh. Sir.? Boy, where’s the kettle and the sugar .? ’ 

‘ What on earth is the man at .? quoth Amyas to himself — 
‘ flattering me, or laughing at me.? 


SLEW THE KING OF THE CUBBINGS. 


283 


‘Yes,’ he ran on, half to himself, in a deliberate tone, 
evidently intending to hint more than he said, as he began 
brewing the sack — in plain English, hot negus ; ‘ Yes, bread 
and dripping for those who can’t fight Spaniards ; but the best 
that money can buy for those who can. I heard of you at 

Smerwick, Sir, Yes, bread and dripping for me too — I 

can’t fight Spaniards ; but for such as you ! Look here. Sir; I 
should like to feed a crew of such up, as you’d feed a main of 
fighting cocks, and then start them with a pair of Sheffield 
spurs apiece — you’ve a good one there to your side. Sir ; but 
don’t you think a man might carry two now, and fight as they 
say those Cliineses do, a sword to each hand ? You could kill 
more that way, captain Leigh, I reckon > ’ 

Amyas half-laughed. 

‘ One will do, Mr. Salterne, if one is quick enough with it.’ 

‘Humph! — Ah — No use being in a hurry. I haven’t 
been in a hurry. No — I waited for you ; and here you are, 
and welcome. Sir ! Here comes supper ; a light matter. Sir, 
you see. A capon and a brace of partridges. I had no time 
to feast you as you deserve.’ 

And so he ran on all supper-time, hardly allowing Amyas to 
get a word in edge-ways; but heaping him with coarse flattery, 
and urging him to drink, till after the cloth was drawn, and the 
two left alone, he grew so outrageous that Amyas was forced 
to take him to task good-humoredly. 

‘ Now, my dear Sir, you have feasted me royally, and better 
far than I deserve : but why will you go about to make me 
drunk twice over, first with vainglory and then with wine.? ’ 

Salterne looked at him awhile fixedly, and then, sticking out 
his chin — ‘ Because, Captain Leigh, I am a man who has all 
his life tried the crooked road first, and found the straight one 
the safer after all.’ 

‘ Eh, Sir .? That is a strange speech for one who bears the 
character of the most upright man in Bideford.’ 

‘ Humph. So 1 thought myself once. Sir ; and well I have 
proved it. But I’ll be plain with you. Sir. You’ve heard how 
— how I’ve fared since you saw me last ? ’ 

Amyas nodded his head. 

‘ 1 thought so. Shame rides post. Now then. Captain Leigh, 
listen to me. I, being a plain man and a burgher, and one that 
never drew iron in my life except to mend a pen, ask you, 
being a gentleman and a captain and a man of honor, with a 
weapon to your side, and harness to your back — what would 
you do in my place .? ’ 


284 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


‘ Humph ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ that would very much depend on 
whether “ my place ” was my own fault or not.’ 

‘ And what if it were, Sir ? What if all that the charitable 
folks of Bideford — (Heaven reward them for their tender 
mercies !) — have been telling you in the last hour to be true, 
Sir, — true ! and yet not half the truth > ’ 

Amyas gave a start. 

‘ Ah, you shrink from me ! Of course a man is too righteous 
to forgive those who repent, though God is not.’ 

‘ God knows. Sir — ’ 

‘ Yes, Sir, God does know — all ; and you shall know a little 
— as much as I can tell — or you understand. Come up-stairs 
with me. Sir, as you’ll drink no more ; I have a liking for you. 
I have watched you from your boyhood, and I can trust you, 
and ril show you what I never showed to mortal man but one.’ 

And, taking up a candle, he led the way up-stairs, while 
Amyas followed, wondering. 

He stopped at a door, and unlocked it. 

‘ There, come in. Those shutters have not been opened 
since she — ’ and the old man was silent. 

Amyas looked round the room. It was a bow wainscoted 
room, such as one sees in old houses ; every thing was in the 
most perfect neatness. The snow white sheets on the bed were 
turned down as if ready for an occupant. There were books 
arranged on the shelves, fresh flowers on the table ; the dress- 
ing-table had all its woman’s mundus of pins, and rings, and 
brushes ; even the dressing-gown lay over the chair-back. 
Everything was evidently just as it had been left. 

‘ This was her room. Sir,’ whispered the old man. 

Amyas nodded silently and half drew back. 

‘ You need not be modest about entering it now. Sir,’ whis- 
pered he, with a sort of sneer. ‘ There has been no frail flesh 
and blood in it for many a day.’ 

Amyas sighed. 

‘ I sweep it out myself every morning, and keep all tidy. See 
here ! ’ and he pulled open a drawer. ‘ Here are all her gowns, 
and there are her hoods ; and there — 1 know ’em all by heart 
now, and the place of every one. And there, Sir — ’ 

And he opened a cupboard, where lay in rows all Rose’s 
dolls, and the worn-out playthings of her childhood. 

‘ That’s the pleasantest place of all in the room to me,’ said 
he, whispering still ; ‘ for it minds me of when — and maybe, 
she may become a little child once more, Sir; it’s written in 
the Scripture you know — ’ 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 


285 


‘ Amen ! ’ said Amyas, who felt, to his own wonder, a big 
tear stealing down each cheek. 

‘ And now,’ he whispered, ‘ one thing more. Look here ! ’ — 
and pulling out a key, he unlocked a chest, and lifted up tray 
after tray of necklaces and jewels, furs, lawns, cloth of gold. 
‘Look there! Two thousand pound won’t buy that chest. 
Twenty years have I been getting those things together. That’s 
the cream of many a Levant voyage, and East Indian voyage, 
and West Indian voyage; My Lady Bath can’t match those 
pearls in her grand house at Tawstock ; I got ’em from a 
Genoese, though, and paid for ’em. Look at that embroidered 
lawn ! There’s not such a piece in London ; no, nor in Alex- 
andria, I’ll warrant ; nor short of Calicut, where it came from. . . . 
Look here again, there’s a golden cup I I bought that of one that 
was out with Pizarro in Peru. And look here, again 1 ’ — and 
the old man gloated over the treasure. 

‘ And whom do you think I kept all these for ? These were 
for her wedding-day — for her wedding-day. For your wed- 
ding-day, if you’d been minded. Sir! Yes, yours, Sir! And 
yet, I believe, I was so ambitious that I would not have let her 
marry under an earl, all the while I was pretending to be too 
proud to throw her at the head of a squire’s son. Ah well ! 
There was my idol, Sir. I made her mad, I pampered her up 
with gewgaws and vanity; and then, because my idol was just 
what 1 had made her', I turned again and rent her. 

‘ And now,’ said he, pointing to the open chest, ‘ that was 
what I meant; and that’ (pointing to the empty bed), ‘was 
what God meant. Never mind. Come down-stairs and finish 
your wine. I see you don’t care about it all. Why should 
you ? you are not her father, and you may thank God you are 

not. Go, and be merry while you can, young Sir! 

And yet, all this might have been yours. And — but I don’t 
suppose you are one to be won by money — but all this may be 
yours still, and twenty thousand pounds to boot.’ 

‘ I want no money. Sir, but what I can earn with my own 
sword.’ 

‘ Earn my money, then ! ’ 

‘ What on earth do you want of me ? ’ 

‘ To keep your oath,’ said Salterne, clutching" his arm, and 
looking up into his face with searching eyes. 

‘ My. oath! Plow did you know that I had one ? ’ 

‘Ah ! you were well-ashamed of it, I suppose, next day ! A 
drunken frolic all about a poor merchant’s daughter ! But there 
is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed, nor done in the 
closet, that is not proclaimed on the house-tops.’ 


286 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


‘ Ashamed of It, Sir, I never was ; but I have a right to ask 
how you came to know it ? ’ 

* What if a poor, fat, squinny rogue, a low-born fellow even 
as I am, whom you had baffled and made a laughing-stock, 
had come to me in my loneliness and sworn before God that if 
you honorable gentlemen would not keep your words, he, the 
clown, would ? ’ 

‘ John Brirnblecombe ? ’ 

‘ iind what if I had brought him where I have brought you, 
and shown him what I have shown you, and, instead of standing 
as stiff as any Spaniard, as you do, he had thrown himself on 
his knees by that bed-side, and wept and prayed. Sir, till he 
opened my hard heart for the first and last time, and I fell down 
on my sinful knees and wept and prayed by him ? ’ 

‘I am not given to weeping, Mr. Salterne,’ said Amyas 
‘and as for praying, I don’t know yet what I have to pray for, 
on her account ; my business is to work. Show me what I can 
do, and when you have done that, it will be full time to upbraid 
me with not doing it.’ 

‘ You can cut that fellow’s throat.’ 

‘It will take a long arm to reach him.’ 

‘ I suppose it is as easy to sail to the Spanish Main as it was 
to sail round the world.’ 

‘ iMy good Sir,’ said Amyas, ‘ I have at this moment no more 
worldly goods than my clothes and my sword ; so how to sail to 
the Spanish Main I don’t quite see.’ 

‘ And do you suppose. Sir, that I should hint to you of such 
a voyage, if I meant you to be at the charge of it ? No, Sir, 
if you want two thousand pounds, or five, to fit a ship, take it ! 
Take it. Sir ! I hoarded money for my child ; and now I will 
spend it to avenge her.’ 

Amyas was silent for awhile ; the old man still held his arm, 
still looked up steadfastly and fiercely in his face. 

‘Bring me home that man’s head, and take ship, prizes — 
all ! Keep the gain. Sir, and give me the revenge ! ’ 

‘Gain? Do you think I need bribing. Sir? What kept 
me silent was the thought of my mother ; 1 dare not go without 
her leave.’ 

Salterne made a gesture of impatience. 

‘ I dare not, Sir ; 1 must obey my parent whatever else I 
do.’ 

‘ Humph!’ said he. ‘If others had obeyed theirs as well! 
— But you are right, Captain Leigh, right. You will prosper, 
whoever else does not. Now, Sir, good night, if you will let 


SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS. 


287 


me be the first to say so. My old eyes grow heavy early now- 
a-days. Perhaps it’s old age, perhaps it’s sorrow.’ 

So Amyas departed to the inn, and there, to his great joy, 
found Cary waiting for him, from whom he learned details, 
which must be kept for another chapter, and which I shall tell, 
for convenience sake, in my own words, and not in his. 


HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE 


288 V 


CHAPTER XV. 

HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE 
OF AN OATH. 

* The Kynge of Spayn is a foul paynim. 

And lieveth on Mahound; 

And pity it were that lady fayre 
Should marry a heathen hound.’ 

Kyng Estmere. 

About six weeks after the duel, the miller at Stow had come 
up to the great house in much tribulation, to borrow the blood- 
hounds. Rose Salterne had vanished in the night, no man knew 
whither. 

Sir Richard was in Bideford ; but the old steward took on 
himself to send for the keepers, and down went the serving men 
to the mill with all the idle lads of the parish at their heels, 
thinking a maiden-hunt very good sport ; and, of course, taking 
a view of the case as favorable as possible to Rose. 

They reviled the miller and his wife roundly for hard-hearted 
old heathens; and had no doubt that they had driven the poor 
maid to throw herself over cliff, or drown herself in the sea ; 
while all the women of Stow on the other hand, were of unani- 
mous opinion that the hussy had ‘ gone off’ with some bad 
fellow ; and that pride was sure to have a fall, and so forth. 

The facts of the case were, that all Rose’s trinkets were left 
behind, so that she had at least gone off honestly ; and nothing 
seemed to be missing but some of her linen, which old Anthony 
the steward broadly hinted was likely to be found in other 
people’s boxes. The only trace was a little footmark under her 
bedroom window. On that the blood-hound was laid (of course 
in leash), and after a premonitory whimper, lifted up his mighty 
voice, and started bell-mouthed through the garden gate, and up 
the lane, towing behind him the panting keeper, till they reache_d 
the downs above, and went straight away for Marsland Mouth, 
where the whole posse comitatus pulled up breathless at the 
door of Lucy Passmore. 


UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH. 289 

Lucy, as perhaps I should have said before, was now a widow, 
and found her widowhood not altogether contrary to her inter- 
est. Her augury about her old man had been fulfilled ; he had 
never returned since the night on which he put to sea with 
Eustace and the Jesuits. 

* Some natural tears she shed, but dried them soon ’ — 

as many of them, at least, as were not required for purposes of 
business ; and then determined to prevent suspicion by a bold 
move ; she started off to Stow, and told Lady Grenvile a most 
pathetic tale : how her husband had gone out to pollock fishing, 
and never returned : but .how she had heard horsemen gallop 
past her window in the dead of night, and was sure they must 
have been the Jesuits, and that they had carried off her old man 
by main force, and probably, after making use of his services, 
had killed and salted him down for provision on their voyage 
back to the Pope at Rome ; after which she ended by entreat- 
ing protection against those ‘ Popish skulkers up to Chapel,’ 
who were sworn to do her a mischief ; and by an appeal to 
Lady Gren vile’s sense of justice, as to whether the Queen 
ought not to allow her a pension, for having had her heart’s 
love turned into a sainted martyr by the hands of idolatrous 
traitors. 

Lady Grenvile (who had a great opinion of Lucy’s medical 
skill, and always sent for her if one of the children had a 
‘ housty,’ i. e. sore throat), went forth and pleaded the case 
before Sir Richard with such effect, that Lucy was, on the whole, 
better off than ever for the next two or three years. But now 
— what had she to do with Rose’s disappearance .? and, indeed, 
where was she herself.? Her door was fast; and round it her 
flock of goats stood, crying in vain for her to come and milk 
them ; while from the down above, her donkeys, wandering at 
their own sweet will, answered the bay of the blood-hound with 
a buist of harmony. 

‘ They’m laughing at us, keper, they neddies ; sure enough, 
we’m lost our labor here.’ 

But the blood-hound, after working about the door awhile, 
turned down the glen, and never stopped till he reached the 
margin of the sea. 

‘ They’m taken water. Let’s go back, and rout out the old 
witch’s house.’ 

‘ ’Tis just like that old Lucy, to lock a poor maid into shame.’ 

And returning, they attacked the cottage, and by a general 
plehiscitum^ ransacked the little dwelling, partly in indignation, 
and partly, if the truth be told, in the hope of plunder: but 
25 


290 


now MR. JOHN BRTMBLZCOMBE 


plunder there was none. Lucy had decamped with all her 
movable wealth, saving the huge black cat among the embers, 
who, at the sight of the blood-hound, vanished up the chimney 
(sojTie said with a strong smell of brimstone), and being viewed 
outside, was chased into the woods, where she lived, I doubt 
not, many happy years, a scourge to all the rabbits of the 
glen. 

The goats and donkeys were driven off up to Stow ; and the 
mob returned, a little ashamed of themselves when their brief 
wrath was past ; and a little afraid, loo, of what Sir Richard 
might say. 

Fie, when he returned, sold the donkeys and goats, and gave 
the money to the poor, promising to refund the same, if Lucy 
returned and gave herself up to justice. But Lucy did not 
return; and her cottage, from which the neighbors shrank as 
from a haunted place, remained as she had left it, and crum- 
bled slowly down to four fern-covered walls, past which the 
little stream went murmuring on from pool to pool — the only 
voice, for many a year to come, which broke the silence of 
that lonely glen. 

A few days afterwards. Sir Richard, on his way from Bide- 
ford to Stow, looked in at Clovelly Court, and mentioned with 
a ‘ by-the-bye ’ news which made Will Cary leap from his seat 
almost to the ceiling. What it was, we know already. 

‘ And there is no clue ? ’ asked Old Cary ; for his son was 
speechless. 

‘ Only this; I hear that some fellow prowling about the cliffs 
that night, saw a pinnace running for Lundy.’ 

Will rose and went hastily out of the room. 

In half an hour, he and three or four armed servants were on 
board a trawling-skiff, and away to Lundy. He did not return 
for three days, and then brought news : that an elderly man, 
seemingly a foreigner, had been lodging for some months past 
in a part of the ruined Moresco Castle, which was tenanted by 
one John Braund ; that a fe\y weeks since a younger man, a 
foreigner also, had joined him from on board a ship ; the ship 
a Flushinger, or Easterling of some sort. The ship came and 
went more than once, and the young man in her. A few davs 
since, a lady and her maid, a stout woman, came with him up 
to the castle, and talked with the elder man a long while in 
secret ; abode there all night ; and then all three sailed in the 
morning. The fishermen on the beach had heard t!:e young 
man call the other father. He was a very still man, much as a 
mass-priest might be. More they did not know, or did not 
choose to know. 


UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH. 291 

Whereon, Old Cary and Sir Richard sent Will on a second 
trip with the parish constable of Hartland (in which huge par- 
ish, for its sins, is situate the Isle of Lundy, ten miles out at 
sea) ; who returned with the body of the hapless John Braund, 
farmer, fisherman, smuggler, &c. ; which worthy, after much 
fruitless examination (wherein examinate was afflicted with ex- 
treme deafness and loss of memory), departed to Exeter gaol, 
on a charge of ‘ harboring priests, Jesuits, gipsies, and other 
suspect and traitorous persons.’ 

Poor John Braund, whose motive for entertaining the said 
ugly customers had probably been not treason, but a wife, seven 
children, and arrears of rent, did not thrive under the change 
from the pure air of Lundy to the pestiferous one of Exeter 
gaol, made infamous, but two years after (if I recollect right), 
by a ‘ black assizes,’ nearly as fatal as that more notorious one 
at Oxford ; for in it, ‘ whether by the stench of the prisoners, 
or by a stream of foul air,’ judge, jury, counsel and bystanders, 
numbering among them many members of the best families 
in Devon, sickened in court, and died miserably within a few 
days. 

John Braund, then, took the gaol-fever in a week, and died 
raving in that noisome den ; his secret, if he had one, perished 
with him, and nothing but vague suspicion was left as to Rose 
Salterne’s fate. That she had gone off with the Spaniard, few 
doubted ; but whither, and in what character ? On that last sub- 
ject, be sure, no mercy was shown to her by many a Bideford 
dame, who had hated the poor girl. simply for her beauty; and 
by many a country lady, who had ‘ always expected that the girl 
would be brought to ruin by the absurd notice, beyond what her 
station had a right to, which was taken of her ; ’ while every 
young maiden aspired to fill the throne which Rose had abdi- 
cated. So that, on the whole. Bideford considered itself as 
going on as well without poor Rose as it had done with her, or 
even better. And though she lingered in some hearts still as 
a fair dream, the business and the bustle of each day. soon 
swept that dream away, and her place knew her no more. 

And Will Cary ? 

He was for awhile like a man distracted. He heaped him- 
self with all manner of superfluous reproaches, for having (as 
he said) first brought the Rose into disgrace, and then driven 
her into the arms of the Spaniard ; while St. Leger, who was 
a sensible man enough, tried in vain to persuade him that the 
fault was not his at all ; that the two must have been attached 
to each other long before the quarrel ; that it must have ended 
so, sooner or later ; that old Salterne’s harshness, rather than 


292 


HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE 


Cary’s wrath, had hastened the catastrophe ; and finally, that 
the Rose and her fortunes were, now that she had eloped with 
a Spaniard, not worth troubling their heads about. Poor Will 
would not be so comforted. He wrote off to Frank at White-' 
hall, telling him the whole truth, calling himself all fools and 
villains, and entreating Frank’s forgiveness; to which he re- 
ceived an answer, in which Frank said that Will had no reason 
to accuse himself ; that these strange attachments were due to 
a S 3 mastria, or sympathy of the stars, which ruled the destinies 
of each person, to fighl against which was to fight against the 
heavens tliemselves ; that he, as a brother of the Rose, was 
bound to believe, nay, to assert, at the sword’s point if need 
were, that the incomparable Rose of Torridge could make none 
but a worthy and virtuous choice ; and that to the man whom 
she had honored by her affection was due on their" part, Span- 
iard and Papist though he might be, all friendship, worship and 
loyal faith for evermore. 

And honest Will took it all for gospel, little dreaming what 
agony of despair, what fearful suspicions, what bitter prayers 
this letter had cost to the gentle heart of Francis Leigh. 

He showed the letter triumphantly to St. Leger ; and he was 
quite wise enough to gainsay no word of it, at least aloud ; but 
quite wise enough, also, to believe in secret that Frank looked 
on the matter in quite a different light; however, he contented 
himself with saying, — 

‘ The man is an angel, as his mother is ! ’ and there the 
matter dropped for a few days, till one came forward who had 
no mind to let it drop, and that was Jack Brimblecombe, now 
curate of Hartland town, and ‘ passing rich on forty pounds 
a-year.’ 

‘ 1 hope no offence, Mr. William ; but when are you and the 
rest going after — after her? ’ The name stuck in his throat. 

Cary was taken aback. 

‘ What’s that to thee, Catiline the blood-drinker? ’ asked he, 
trying to laugh it off. 

‘ What? Don’t laugh at me. Sir, for it’s no laughing mat- 
ter. I drank that night nought worse, 1' expect, than red wine. 
Whatever it was, we swore our oaths, Mr. Cary ; and oaths are 
oaths, say I.’ 

‘ Of course. Jack, of course ; but to go to look for her — and 
when we’ve found her, cut her lover’s throat! Absurd, Jack, 
even if she were worth looking for, or his throat worth cut- 
ting. Tut, tut, tut — ’ 

But Jack looked steadfastly in his face, and after some 
silence, — 


U^'DERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH. 


293 


‘ How far is it to the Caraccas, then, Sir ? ’ 

‘ What is that to thee, man ? ’ 

‘ V\ hy, he was made governor tliereof, I hear ; so that would 
be the place to tind her.’ 

‘ You don’t mean to go thither to seek her? ’ shouted Cary, 
forcing a laugh. 

‘ That depends on whether I can go, Sir ; but if I can scrape 
the money together, or get a berth on board some ship, why, 
God’s will must be done.’ 

Will looked at him, to see if he had been drinking, or gone 
mad ; but the little pigs’ eyes were both sane and sober. 

Will k new no answer. To laugh at the poor fellow was easy 
enough ; to deny that he was right, that he was a hero and 
cavalier, outdoing romance itself in faithfulness, not so easy ; 
and Cary, in the first impulse, wished him at the bottom of the 
bay for shaming him. Of course, his own plan of letting ill 
alone was the rational, prudent, irreproachable plan, and just 
what any gentleman in his senses would have done ; but here 
was a vulgar, fat curate, out of his senses, determined not to 
let ill alone, but to do something, as Cary felt in his heart, of a 
far diviner stamp. 

‘ Well,’ said Jack, in his stupid, steadfast way, ‘ it’s a very bad 
look-out ; but mother’s pretty well off, if father dies, and the 
maidens are stout wenches enough, and will make tidy servants, 
please the Lord. And you’ll see that they come to no harm, 
Mr. William, for old acquaintance sake, if I never come back.’ 

Cary was silent with amazement. 

‘ And, Mr. William, you know me for an honest man, I hope. 
Will you lend me a five pound, and take my books in pawn for 
them, just to help me out ? ’ 

‘ Are you mad, or in a dream ? You will never find her ! ’ 

‘ That’s no reason why I shouldn’t do my duty in looking 
for her, Mr. William.’ 

‘ But, my good fellow, even if you get to the Indies, you 
will be clapt into the Inquisition, and burnt alive, as sure as 
your name is Jack.’ 

‘ I know that,’ said he in a doleful tone ; ‘ and a sore strug- 
gle of the flesh I have had about it ; for I am a great coward, 
Mr. William, a dirty coward, and always was, as you know ; 
but maybe the Lord will take care of me, as He does of little 
children and drunken men; and if not, Mr. William, I’d sooner 
burn, and have it over, than go on this way any longer, I would ! ’ 
and Jack burst out blubbering. 

‘ What way, my dear old lad ? ’ said Will, softened as he well 
might be. 


25 * 


294 


HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE 


‘ Why, not — not to know whether — whether — whether 
she’s married to him or not — her that I looked up to as an 
angel of God, as pure as the light of day; and knew she was 
too good for a poor pot-head like me ; and prayed for her every 
night, God knows, that she might marry a king, if there was 
one fit for her — and I hot to know whether she’s living in sin 
or not, Mr. William. It’s more than 1 can bear, and there’s an 
end of it. And if she is married to him, they keep no faith 
with heretics: they can dissolve the marriage, or make away 
with her into the Inquisition ; burn her, Mr. Cary, as soon as 
burn me, the devils incarnate ! ’ 

Cary shuddered ; the fact, true and palpable as it was, had 
never struck him before. 

‘ Yes ! or make her deny her God by torments, if she hasn’t 
doncvit already for love to that — I know how love w'ill make a 
body sell his soul, for I have been in love. Don’t you laugh at 
me, Mr. William, or I shall go mad ! ’ 

‘ God knows, I was never less inclined to laugh at you in my 
life, my brave old Jack.’ 

‘ Is it so, then ? Bless you for that word ! ’ and Jack held 
out his hand. ‘ But what will become of my soul, after my 
oath, if I don’t seek her out, just to speak to her, to warn her 
for God’s sake, even if it did no good ; just to set before her 
the Lord’s curse on idolatry and Antichrist, and those who deny 
Him for the sake of any creature, though I can’t think He 
would be hard on her, — for who could ? But I must speak 
all the same. The Lord has laid the burden on me, and done it 
must be, God help me ! ’ 

‘ Jack,’ said Cary, ‘ if this is your duty, it is others’.’ 

‘ No, Sir, I don’t say that ; you’re a layman, but I am a dea- 
con, and the chaplain of you all, and sworn to seek out Christ’s 
sheep scattered up and down this naughty world, and that inno- 
cent lamb first of all.’ 

^ You have sheep at Hartland, Jack, already.’ 

‘ There’s plenty better than I will tend them, when I am 
gone ; but none that will tend her, because none love her like 
me, and they won’t venture. Who will ? It can’t be expected, 
and no shame to them ? ’ 

‘ I wonder what Amyas Leigh would say to all this, if he 
were at home ? ’ 

^ Say ? He’d do. He isn’t one for talking. He’d go through 
fire and water for her ; you trust him, Will Cary ; and call me 
an ass if he won’t.’ 

^ Will you wait then till he comes back, and ask him ? * 

^ He may not be back for a year and more,’ 


UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH. 


295 


‘ Flear reason, Jack. If you will wait like a rational and 
patient man, instead of rushing blindfold on your ruin, some- 
thing may be done.’ 

‘ You think so ? ’ 

‘ I cannot promise ; but — ’ 

‘ But promise me one thing. Do you tell Mr. Frank what I 
say — or rather I’ll warrant, if I knew the truth, he has said the 
very same thing himself already.’ 

‘ You are out there, old man ; for here is his own handwrit- 
ing.’ 

Jack read the letter, and sighed bitterly. 

‘ Well, I did take him for another guess sort of fine gentle- 
man. Still, if my duty isn’t his, it’s mine all the same. I Judge 
no man ; but I go, Mr. Cary.’ 

‘ But go you shall not till Amyas returns. As I live, I will 
tell your father. Jack, unless you promise ; and you dare not 
disobey him.’ 

‘ I don’t know even that, for conscience’ sake,’ said Jack, 
doubtfully. 

‘ At least, you stay and dine here, old fellow, and we will 
settle whether you are to break the fifth commandment or not, 
over good brewed sack.’ 

Now a good dinner was (as we know) what Jack loved, and 
loved too oft in vain ; so he submitted for the nonce, and Cary 
thought, ere he went, that he had talked him pretty well round. 
At last he went home, and was seen no more for a week. 

But at the end of that time he returned, and said with a joy- 
ful voice, — 

‘ I’ve settled all, Mr. William. The parson of Welcombe will 
serve my church for two Sundays, and I am away for London 
town, to speak to Mr. Frank.’ 

‘ To London ? How wilt get there ? ’ 

‘ On Shanks his mare,’ said Jack, pointing to his bandy legs. 
‘ But I expect I can get a lift on board of a coaster so far as 
Bristol, and it’s no way on to signify, I hear.’ 

Cary tried in vain to dissuade him ; and then forced on him a 
small loan, with which away went Jack, and Cary heard no more 
of him for three weeks. 

At last he walked into Clovelly Court again just before supper- 
time, thin and leg-weary, and sat himself down among the serv- 
ing men till Will appeared. 

Will took him up above the salt, and made much of him 
(which indeed the honest fellow much needed), and after sup- 
per asked him in private how he had sped. 


296 


HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE 


‘ I have learnt a lesson, Mr. William, I’ve learnt that there is 
one on earth loves her better than 1, if she had but had the wit 
to have taken him.’ 

‘ But what says he of going to seek her ? ’ 

‘ He says what I say. Go ! and he says what you say. Wait.’ 

‘Go? Impossible! How can that agree with his letter?* 

That’s no concern of mine. Of course, being nearer heaven 
than I am, he sees clearer what he should say and do than I can 
see for him. Oh, Mr. William, that’s not a man, he’s an angel 
of God ; but he’s dying, Mr. William.’ 

‘ Dying ? ’ 

‘ Yes faith, of love for her. I can see it in his eyes, and 
hear it in his voice ; but I am of tougher hide, and stiffer clay, 
and so you see I can’t die, even if I tried. But I’ll obey my 
betters, and wait.’ 

And so Jack went home to his parish that very evening, 
weary as he was, in spite of all entreaties to pass the night at 
Clovelly. But he had left behind him thoughts in Cary’s mind, 
which gave their owner no rest by day or night, till the touch 
of a seeming accident made them all start suddenly into shape, 
as a touch of the freezing water covers it in an instant with 
crystals of ice. 

He was lounging (so he told Amyas) one murky day on 
Bideford quay, when up came Mr. Salterne. Cary had shunned 
him of late, partly from delicacy, partly from dislike of his 
supposed hard-heartedness. But this time they happened to 
meet full : and Cary could not pass without speaking to him. 

‘ Well, Mr. Salterne, and how goes on the shipping trade ? ’ 

‘Well enough. Sir, if some of you young gentlemen would 
but follow Mr. Leigh’s example, and go forth to find us stay-at- 
homes new markets for our ware.’ 

‘ What ? you want to be rid of us, eh ? ’ 

‘ I don’t know why I should, Sir. We shan’t cross each other 
now. Sir, whatever might have been once. But if I were you, 
I should be in the Indies about now, if I were not fighting the 
Queen’s battles nearer home.’ 

‘ In the Indies? I should make but a poor hand of Drake’s 
trade.’ And so the conversation dropped ; but Cary did not 
forget the hint. 

‘ So, lad, to make an end of a long story,’ said he to Amyas ; 
‘ if you are minded to take the old man’s offer, so am I ; and 
Westward -ho with you, come foul, come fair.’ 

‘It will be but a wild-goose chase. Will.’ 


UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH. 297 

is not, and the villain has cast her off down the wind, that will 
be only an additional reason for making an example of him.’ 

‘ And if neither of them are there. Will, the Plate-fleets will 
be; so it will be opr own shame if we come home empty- 
handed. But will your father let you run such a risk ? ’ 

‘ ]My father ! ’ said Cary, laughing. ‘ He has just now so 
good hope of a long siring of little Carys to fill my place, that 
he will be in no lack of an heir, come what will.’ 

‘ Little Carys ? ’ 

‘ I tell you truth. I think he must have had a sly sup of that 
fountain of perpetual youth, which our friend Don Guzman’s 
grandfather went to seek in Florida ; for, some twelvemonth 
since, he must needs marry a tenant’s buxom daughter ; and 
Mistress Abishag Jewell has brought him one fat baby already. 
So I shall go back to Ireland, or with you : but somewhere. I 
can’t abide the thing’s squalling, any more than 1 can seeing 
Mistress Abishag sitting in my poor dear mother’s place, and 
informing me every other day that she is come of an illustrious 
house, because she is (or is not) third cousin seven times 
removed to my father’s old friend, Bishop Jewell of glorious 
memory. I had three parts of a quarrel with the dear old man 
the other day ; for after one of her peacock-bouts, I couldn’t 
for the life of me help saying, that as the Bishop had written an 
Apology for the people of England, my father had better con- 
jure up his ghost to write an apology for him, and head it, 
“ Why green heads should grow on gray shoulders.” ’ 

‘ You impudent villain ! And what did he say .? ’ 

‘ Laugh till he cried again, and told me that if I did not 
like it I might leave it ; which is just what I intend to do. Only 
mind, if we go, we must needs take Jack Brimblecombe with 
us, or he will surely heave himself over Harty Point, and his 
ghost will haunt us to our dying day.’ 

‘ Jack shall go. None deserves it better.’ 

After which there was a long consultation on practical mat- 
ters, and it was concluded that Amyas should go up to London 
and sound Frank and his mother, before any further steps were 
taken. The other brethren of the Rose were scattered far and 
wide, each at his post, and St. Leger had returned to his uncle, 
so that it would be unfair to them, as well as a considerable 
delay, to demand of them any fulfilment of their vow. And, 
as Amyas sagely remarked, ‘ Too many cooks spoil the broth, 
and half-a-dozen gentlemen aboard one ship are as bad as two 
kings of Brentford.’ 

With which maxim he departed next morning for London, 
leaving Yeo with Cary. 


298 


THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 

‘ He is brass within, and steel without, 

With beams on his topcastle strong ; 

^ And eighteen pieces of ordinance 

* He carries on either side along.’ 

Sir Andrew Barton. 

Let us take boat, as Amyas did, at Whitehall-stairs, and slip 
down ahead of him under old London Bridge, and so to Dept- 
ford Creek, where remains, as it were embalmed, the famous 
ship, Pelican, in which Drake had sailed round the world. 
There she stands, drawn up high and dry upon the sedgy bank 
of Thames, like an old warrior resting after his toil. Nailed 
upon her mainmast are epigrams and verses in honor of her and 
of her captain, three of which, by the Winchester scholar, 
Camden gives in his History ; and Elizabeth’s self consecrated 
her solemnly, and having banqueted on board, there and then 
honored Drake with the dignity of knighthood. ‘ At which 
time a bridge of planks, by which they came on board, broke 
under the press of people, and fell down with a hundred men 
upon it, who, notwithstanding, had none of them any harm. So 
as that ship may seem to have been built under a lucky planet.’- 
There she has remained since as a show, and, moreover, as a 
sort of dining-hall for jovial parties from the city; one of which 
would seem to be on board this afternoon, to judge from the 
flags which bedizen the masts, the sounds of revelry and savory 
steams which issue from those windows which once were port- 
holes, and the rushing to and fro along the river brink, and 
across that lucky bridge, of white-aproned waiters from the 
neighboring Pelican Inn. A great feast is evidently toward, for 
with those white-aproned waiters are gay serving-men, wearing 
on their shoulders the City-badge. The Lord Mayor is giving a 
dinner to certain gentlemen of the Leicester House party, who 
are interested in foreign discoveries; and what place so fit for 
such a feast as the Pelican itself ? 


OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 


299 


Look at the men all round ; a nobler company you will sel- 
dom see. Especially too, if you be Americans, look at their 
faces, and reverence them ; for to them and to their wisdom 
you owe the existence of your mighty father-land. 

At the head of the table sits the Lord Mayor; whom all read- 
ers will recognize at once, for he is none other than that famous 
Sir Edward Osborne, cloth-worker, and ancestor of the Dukes of 
Leeds, whose romance now-a-days is in every one’s hands. He 
is aged, but not changed, since lie leaped from the window upon 
London Bridge into the roaring tide below, to rescue the infant 
who is now his wife. The chivalry and promptitude of the 
’prentice-boy have grown and hardened into the thoughtful 
daring of the wealthy merchant-adventurer. There he sits, a 
right kingly man, with my Lord Earl of Cumberland on his 
right hand, and Walter Raleigh on his left ; the thyee talk 
together in a low voice on the chance of there being vast and 
rich countries still undiscovered between Florida and the River 
of Canada. Raleigh’s half-scientific declamation, and his often 
quotations of Doctor Dee the conjuror, have less effect on 
Osborne than on Cumberland (who tried many an adventure to 
foreign parts, and failed an all of them ; apparently for the sim- 
ple reason that, instead of going himself, he sent other people), 
and Raleigh is fain to call to his help the quiet student who sits 
on his left hand, Richard Hakluyt, of Oxford. But he is deep 
in talk with a reverend elder, whose long white beard flows 
almost to his waist, and whose face is furrowed by a thousand 
storms ; Anthony Jenkinson by name, the great Asiatic travel- 
ler, who is discoursing to the Christ-church virtuoso of reindeer- 
sledges and Siberian stef)pes, and of the fossil ivory, plain proof 
of Noah’s flood, which the Tungoos dig from the ice-cliffs of 
the Arctic sea. Next to him is Christopher Carlile, Walsing- 
harn’s son-in-law (as Sidney also is now), a valiant captain, 
afterwards general of the soldiery in Drake’s triumphant West 
Indian raid of 1585, with whom a certain Bishop of Carthagena 
will hereafter drink good wine. He is now busy talking with 
Alderman Hart, the grocer. Sheriff Spencer, the cloth- worker, 
and Charles Leigh (Amyas’s merchant-cousin), and with Ald- 
w'orth, the Mayor of Bristol, and William Salterne, alderman 
thereof, and cousin of our friend at Bideford. For Carlile, and 
Secretary Walsingham also, have been helping them, heart and 
soul, for the last two years to collect money for Humphrey and 
Adrian Gilbert’s great adventures to the North-w^est, on one of 
which Carlile was indeed to have sailed h-imself, but did not go 
after all ; I never could discover for what reason. 

On the opposite side of the table is a group scarcely less in- 


300 


THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 


teresting. Martin Frobisher and William Davis, the pioneers 
of the North-west passage, are talking with Alderman Sander- 
son, the great geographer and ‘ setter forth of globes ; ’ with 
Mr. Towerson, Sir Gilbert Peckham, our old acquaintance Cap- 
tain John Winter, and last hut not least, with Philip Sidney 
himself, who, with his accustomed courtesy, has given up his 
rightful place toward the head of the table, that he may have a 
knot of virtuosi all to himself; and has brought with him,' of 
course, his two especial intimates, Mr. Edward Dyer, and Mr. 
Francis Leigh. They, too, are talking of the North-west pas- 
sage ; and Sidney is lamenting that he is tied to diplomacy and 
courts, and expressing his envy of old Martin Frobisher in all 
sorts of pretty compliments ; to which the other replies that, — 

‘ It’s all very fine to talk of here, a sailing on dry land with 
a good glass of wine before you ; but you’d find it another 
guess sort of business, knocking about among the icebergs with 
your beard frozen fast to your ruff. Sir Philip, specially if you 
were a bit squeamish about the stomach.’ 

‘ That were a slight matter to endure, my dear Sir, if by it I 
could win the honor which her Majesty bestowed on you, when 
her own ivory hand waved a farewell kerchief to your ' ship 
from the windows of Greenwich palace.’ 

‘ Well, Sir, folks say you have no reason to complain of lack 
of favors, as you have no reason to deserve lack ; and if you 
can get them by staying ashore, don’t you go to sea to look for 
more, say I. Eh, Master Towerson ’ 

. Towerson’s gray beard, which has stood many a foreign 
voyage, both fair and foul, wags grim assent. But at this mo- 
ment a waiter enters, and — 

‘ Please my Lord Mayor’s Worship, there is a tall gentleman 
outside, would speak with the Right Honorable Sir Walter 
Raleigh.’ 

‘ Show him in, man. Sir Walter’s friends are ours.’ 

Amyas enters, and stands hesitating in the door-way. 

‘ Captain Leigh ! ’ cry half-a-dozen voices. 

‘ Why did you not walk in. Sir ! ’ says Osborne. ‘ You 
should know jmur way well enough between these decks.’ 

‘ Well enough, my lords and gentlemen. But Sir Walter — 
you will excuse me,’ — and he gave Raleigh a look which was 
enough for his quick wit. Turning pale as death, he rose, and 
followed Amyas into an adjoining cabin. They were five min- 
utes together ; and then Amyas came out alone. 

In few words he told the company the sad story which we 
already know. Ere it was ended, noble tears were glistening 
on some of those stern faces. 


OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 


301 


‘ The old Egyptians,’ said Sir Edward Osborne, ‘ when they 
banqueted, set a corpse among their guests, for a memorial of 
human vanity. Have we forgotten God and our own weakness 
in this our feast, that He Himself has sent us thus a message 
from the dead ? ’ 

‘ Nay, my Lord Mayor,’ said Sidney, ‘ not from the dead, but 
from the realm of everlasting life.’ 

‘ Amen ! ’ answered Osborne. ‘ But, gentlemen, our feast is 
at an end. There are those here who would drink on merrily, as 
brave men should, in spite of the private losses of which they 
have just had news ; but none here who can drink with the loss 
of so great a man still ringing in his ears.’ 

It was true. Though many of the guests had suffered severely 
by the failure of the expedition, they had utterly forgotten that 
fact in the awful news of Sir Humphrey’s death ; and the feast 
broke up sadly and hurriedly, while each man asked his neigh- 
bor, ‘ VVhat will the Queen say ? ’ 

Raleigh re-entered in a few minutes, but was silent, and press- 
ing many an honest hand as he passed, went out to call a wherry, 
beckoning Amyas to follow him. Sidney, Cumberland, and 
Frank went with them in another boat, leaving the two to talk 
over the sad details. 

They disembarked at Whitehall-stairs ; Raleigh, Sidney, and 
Cumberland went to the palace; and the two brothers to their 
mother’s lodgings. 

Amyas had prepared his speech to Frank about Rose Sal- 
terne ; but now that it was come to the point, he had not courage 
to begin, and longed that Frank would open the matter. Frank, 
too, shrank from what he knew must come, and all the more 
because he was ignorant that Amyas had been to Bideford, or 
knew aught of the Rose’s disappearance. 

So they went up-stairs ; and it was a relief to both of them 
to find that their mother was at the Abbey ; for it was for her 
sake that both dreaded what was coming. So they went and 
stood in the bay.-window which looked out upon the river, and 
talked of things indifferent, and looked earnestly at each other’s 
faces by the fading light, for it was now three years since they 
had met. 

Years and events had deepened the contrast between the two 
brothers ; and Frank smiled with affectionate pride as he looked 
up in Amyas’s face, and saw that he was no longer merely the 
rollicking handy sailor-lad, but the self-confident and stately 
warrior, showing in every look and gesture, 

^ Tlie reason firm, the temperate will, 

Jkulurancc, foresight, strength and skill,’ 

26 


302 


THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 


worthy of one whose education had been begun by such men as 
Drake and Grenvile, and finished by such as Raleigh and Gil- 
bert. His long locks were now cropped close to the head ; but, 
as a set-off, the lips and chin were covered with rich golden 
beard ; his face was browned by a thousand suns and storms ; 
a long scar, the trophy of some Irish fight, crossed his right 
temple ; his huge figure had gained breadth in proportion to its 
height; and his hand, as it lay upon the window-sill, was hard 
and massive as a smith’s. Frank laid his own upon it, and 
sighed ; and Amyas looked down, and started at the contrast be- 
tween the two — so slender, bloodless, all but transparent, were 
the delicate fingers of the courtier. Amyas looked anxiously 
into his brother's face. It was changed, indeed, since they last 
met. The brilliant red was still on either cheek, but the white 
had become dull and opaque ; the lips were pale, the features 
sharpened ; the eyes glittered with unnatural fire ; and when 
Frank told Amyas that he looked aged, Amyas could not help 
thinking that the remark was fur more true of the speaker 
himself. 

Trying to shut his eyes to the palpable truth, he went on with 
his chat, asking the names of one building after another. 

‘ And so this is old Father Thames, with his bank of palaces.’ 

‘ Yes. His banks are stately enough ; yet, you see, he cannot 
stay to look at them. He hurries down to the sea ; and the sea 
into the ocean ; and the ocean VV’estward-ho, for ever. All things 
move Westward-ho. Perhaps we may move that w'ay ourselves, 
some day, Amyas.’ 

‘ What do you mean by that strange talk ? ’ 

‘ Only that the ocean follows the primuin mohile of the 
lieavens, and flows for ever from east to west. Is there any- 
thing so strange in my thinking of that, when I am just come 
from a party where we have been drinking success to VVest- 
ward-ho ? ’ 

‘And much good has come of it ! I have lost the best 
friend and the noblest captain upon earth, not to mention all my 
little earnings in that same confounded gulf of Westward-ho.’ 

‘ \es, Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s star has set in the west — why 
not.? Sun, moon, and planets sink into the west; why not the 
meteors of this lower world .? why not a will-o’-the-wisp like me, 
Amyas ? ’ 

‘ God forbid, Frank ! ’ 

‘ Why, then ? Is not the west the land of peace and the land 
of dreams.? Do not our hearts tell us so each time we look 
upon the setting sun, and long to float away with him upon the 
golden-cushioncd clouds .? They bury men with their faces to 


OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 


■ 303 


the east. I should rather have mine turned to the west, Amyas, 
when I die ; for I cannot but think it some divine instinct which 
made the ancient poets guess that Elysium lay beneath the set- 
ting sun. It is bound up in the heart of man, that longing for 
the west. I complain of no one for fleeing away thither beyond 
the utmost sea, as David wished to flee, and be at peace.’ 

‘ Complain of no one for fleeing thither ? ’ asked Amyas. 

‘ That is more than I do.’ 

Frank looked inquiringly at him ; and then — 

‘ No. If I had complained of any one, it would have been of 
you just now, for seeming to be tired of going Westward-ho.’ 

‘ Do you wish me to go, then r ’ 

‘God knows,’ said Frank, after a moment’s pause. ‘ But I 
must tell you now, I suppose, once and for all. That has hap- 
pened at Bideford which — ’ 

‘ Spare us both, Frank ; I know all. I came through Bide- 
ford on my way hither ; and came hither not merely to see you 
and my mother, but to ask your advice and her permission.’ 

‘ True heart ! noble heart ! ’ cried Frank. ‘ 1 knew you would 
be stanch ! ’ 

‘ Westward-ho it is, then ? ’ 

‘ Can we escape ? ’ 

‘ We ’ 

‘ Amyas, does not that which binds you, bind me ? ’ 

Amyas started back, and held Frank by the shoulders at 
arm’s length ; as he did so, he could feel through, that his 
brother’s arms were but skin and bone. 

‘ You ? Dearest man, a month of it would kill you ! ’ 

Frank smiled, and tossed his head on one side in his pretty 
way. 

‘ I belong to the school of Thales, who held that the ocean is 
the mother of all life ; and feel no more repugnance at return- 
ing to her bosom again than Humphrey Gilbert did. 

‘ But Frank — my mother ? ’ 

‘ My mother knows all ; and would not have us unworthy of 
her.’ 

‘ Impossible ! She will never give you up ! ’ 

‘ All things are possible to them that believe in God, my 
brother ; and she believes. But, indeed. Doctor Dee, the wise 
man, gave her but this summer I know not what of prognostics 
and diagnostics concerning me. I am born, it seems, under a 
cold and watery planet, and need, if I am to be long-lived, to 
go nearer to the vivifying heat of the sun, and there bask out 
my little life, like fly on wall. To tell truth, he has bidden me 
spend no more winters here in the east ; but return to our native 


304 THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 

sea-breezes, there to warm my frozen lungs ; and has so filled 
my mother’s fancy with stories of sick men, who were given up 
for lost in Germany and France, and yet renewed their youth, 
like any serpent or eagle, by going to Italy, Spain, and the Cana- 
ries, that she herself will be more ready to let me go, than I to 
leave her all alone. And yet I must go, Amyas. It is not merely 
that my heart pants, as Sidney’s docs, as every gallant’s ought, 
to make one of your noble choir of Argonauts, who are now re- 
plenishing the earth and subduing it for God and for the Queen ; 
it is not merely, Amyas, that love calls me — love, tyrannous and 
uncontrollable, strengthened by absence, and deepened by des- 
pair ; but honor, Amyas — my oath — ’ 

And he paused for lack of breath, and bursting into a violent 
fit of coughing, leaned on his brother’s shoulder, while Amyas 
cried, — 

‘ Fools, fools that we were — that I was, I mean — to take 
that fantastical vow ! ’ 

‘ Not so,’ answered a gentle voice from behind ; ‘ you vowed 
for the sake of peace on earth, and good-will toward men, and 
“ Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the chil- 
dren of God.” No, my sons, be sure that such self-sacrifice as 
you have shown will meet its full reward at the hand of Him 
who sacrificed himself for you.’ 

‘ O mother ! mother ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ and do you not hate the 
very sight of me — come here to take away your first-born ? ’ 

‘ My boy, God takes him, and not you. And if I dare believe 
in such predictions. Doctor Dee assured me that some exceeding 
honor awaited you both in the west, to each of you according 
to your deserts.’ 

‘ Ah ? ’ said Amyas. ‘ My blessing, I suppose, will be like 
Esau’s, to live by my sword ; while Jacob here, the spiritual 
man, inherits the kingdom of heaven and an angel’s crown.’ 

‘ Be it what it may, it will surely be a blessing, as long as you 
are such, my children, as you have been. At least my Frank 
will be safe from the intrigues of court, and the temptations of 
the world. Would that I too could go with you and share in your 
glory ! Come now,’ said she, laying her hand upon Amyas’s 
breast, and looking up into his face with one of her most win- 
ning smiles, ‘ I have heard of heroic mothers ere now, who went 
forth with their sons to battle, and cheered them on to victory. 
Why should I not go with you on a more peaceful errand ? I 
could nurse the sick, if there were any ; I could perhaps have 
speech of that poor girl, and win her back more easily than you. 
She might listen to words from a woman — a woman, too, who 
has loved — which she could not hear from men. At least I 


OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 


305 


could mend and wash for you. I suppose it is as easy to play 
the good housewife on float as on shore ? Come now ! ’ 

Amyas looked from one to the other. 

‘ God only knows which of the two is less fit to go. Mother ! 
mother ! you know not what you ask. Frank ! Frank ! I do not 
want you with me. This is a sterner matter than either of you 
fancy it to be; one that must be worked out, not with kind 
words, but with sharp shot and cold steel.’ 

‘ How ? ’ cried both together, aghast. 

‘I must pay my men, and pay my fellow adventurers; and I 
must pay them with Spanish gold. And, what is more, I cannot, 
as a loyal subject of the Queen’s, go to the Spanish Main with 
a clear conscience on my own private quarrel; unless I do all the 
harm that my hand finds to do, by day and night, to her enemies, 
and the enemies of God.’ 

‘ What nobler knight-errantry.? ’ said Frank, cheerfully; but 
Mrs. Leigh shuddered. 

‘ What ! Frank too ? ’ she said half to herself ; but her sons 
knew what she meant. Amyas’s warlike life, honorable and 
righteous as she knew it to be, she had borne as a sad necessity; 
but that Frank as well should become a ‘ man of blood,’ was more 
than her gentle heart could face at first sight. That one youthful 
duel of his he had carefully concealed from her, knowing her 
feeling on such matters. And it seemed too dreadful to her to 
associate that gentle spirit with all the ferocities and the carnage 
of a battle-field. ‘ And yet,’ said she to herself, ‘ is this but 
another of the self-willed idols which I must renounce one by 
one ? ’ And then, catching at a last hope, she answered, — 

‘ Frank must at least ask the Queen’s leave to go ; and if she 
permits, how can 1 gainsay her wisdom ? ’ 

And so the conversation dropped, sadly enough. 

But now began a fresh perplexity in Frank’s soul, which 
amused Amyas at first, when it seemed merely jest, but nettled 
him a good deal when he found it earnest. For Frank looked 
forward to asking the Queen’s permission for his voyage with 
the most abject despondency and terror. Two or three days 
passed before he could make up his mind to ask for an interview 
with her ; and he spent the time in making as much interest 
with Leicester, Hatton, and Sidney, as if he were about to sue 
for a reprieve from the scaffold. 

So said Amyas, remarking further, that the Queen could not 
cut his head off for wanting to go to sea. 

‘ But what axe so sharp as her frown ? ’ said Frank, in most 
lugubrious tone. 

Amyas began to whistle in a very rude way. 

26 * 


306 


THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 


‘ Ah, my brother, you cannot comprehend the pain of parting 
from her.’ 

‘ No, I can’t. I would die for the least hair of her royal head, 
God bless it! but I could live very well from now till Doomsday 
without ever setting eyes on the said head.’ 

‘ Plato’s Troglodytes regretted not that sunlight which they 
had never beheld.’ 

Amyas, not understanding this recondite conceit, made no 
answer to it, and there the matter ended for the time. But at 
last F'rank obtained his audience ; and after a couple of hours’ 
absense, returned quite pale and exhausted. 

‘Thank Heaven, it is over! She was very angry at first — 
what else could she be.? — and upbraided me with having set 
my love so low. I could only answer that my fatal fault was 
committed before the sight of her had taught me what was 
supremely lovely, and only worthy of admiration. Then she 
accused me of disloyalty in having taken an oath which bound 
me to the service of another than her. I confessed my sin with 
tears, and when she threatened punishment, pleaded that the 
offence had avenged itself heavily already, — for what worse 
punishment than exile from the sunlight of her presence, into 
the outer-darkness which reigns where she is not ? Then she 
was pleased to ask me, how I dare, as her sworn servant, 
to desert her side in such dangerous times as these ; and asked 
me how Is hould reconcile it to my conscience, if, on my return, 
1 found her dead by the assassin’s knife .? At which most pa- 
thetic demand I could only throw'myself at once on my own 
knees and her mercy, and so awaited my sentence. Whereon, 
with that angelic pity which alone makes her awfulness endur- 
able, she turned to Hatton and asked, “ What say you, Mouton .? 
Is he humbled sufficiently ? ” and so dismissed me.’ 

‘ Heigh ho ! ’ yawned Amyas ; 

‘ If the bridge had been stronger. 

My tale had been longer.’ 

‘Amyas! Amyas !’ quoth Frank, solemnly, ‘ you know not 
what power over the soul has the native and God-given majesty 
of royally (awful enough in itself), when to it is superadded the 
wisdom of the sage, and therewithal the tenderness of the woman. 
Had I my will, there should be in every realm not a salique, but 
rather an anti-sal ique law ; whereby no kings, but only queens 
should rule mankind. Then would weakness and not power be 
to man the symbol of divinity ; love, and not cunning, would 
be the arbiter of every cause ; and chivalry, not fear, the spring 
of all obedience.’ 


OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 


307 


‘ Humph. There’s some sense in that,’ quoth Amyas. - ‘ Pd 
run a mile for a woman when I would not walk a yard for a 
man ; and — Who is this our mother is bringing in The 
handsomest fellow I ever saw in my life ? ’ 

Amyas was not far wrong; for Mrs. Leigh’s companion was 
none other than Mr. Secretary, Amyas’s Smerwick Fort ac- 
quaintance ; alias Colin Clout, alias Immerito, alias Edmund 
Spenser. Some half-jesting conversation had seemingly been 
passing between the poet and the saint ; for as they came 
in she said, with a smile (which was somewhat of a forced 
one), — 

‘ Well, my dear sons, you are sure of immortality, at least 
on earth ; for Mr. Spenser has been vowing to me to give your 
adventure a whole canto to itself in his Fairy Queen.’ 

‘ And you, no less, Madam,’ said Spenser. ‘ What were the 
story of the Gracchi worth without the figure of Cornelia ? If 
I honor the fruit, I must not forget the stem which bears it. 
Frank, I congratulate you.’ 

‘ Then you know the result of my interview, mother ? ’ 

‘ I know everything, and am content,’ said Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ Mrs. Leigh has reason to be content,’ said Spenser, ‘ with 
that which is but her own likeness.’ 

‘ Spare your flattery to an old woman, Mr. Spenser. When, 
pray, did I (with a most loving look at Frank) refuse knight- 
hood for duty’s sake ? ’ 

‘ Knighthood ? ’ cried Amyas, ‘ You never told me that, 
Frank!’ 

‘That may well be, Captain Leigh,’ said Spenser; ‘but, be- 
lieve me. Her Majesty (so Hatton assures me) told him this 
day no less than that by going on this quest he deprived himself 
of that highest earthly honor which crowned heads are fain to 
seek from their own subjects.’ 

Spenser did not exaggerate. Knighthood was then the prize 
of merit only ; and one so valuable, that Elizabeth herself said, 
when asked why she did not bestow a peerage upon some favor- 
ite, that having already knighted him, she had nothing better to 
bestow. It remained for young Essex to begin the degradation 
of the order in his hapless Irish campaign, and for James to 
complete that degradation by his novel method of raising money 
by the sale of baronetcies ; a new order of hereditary knight- 
hood which was the laughing-stock of the day, and which (how- 
ever venerable it may have since become) reflects anything but 
honor upon its first possessors. 

‘I owe you no thanks, Colin,’ said Frank, ‘for having 
broached my secret ; but I have lost nothing, after all. There 


308 


THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 


is Still an order of knighthood in which I may win my spurs, 
even though Her Majesty refuse me the accolade.’ 

‘ What, then ? you will not take it from a foreign prince ? ’ 

Frank smiled. 

‘ Have you never read of that knighthood which is eternal in 
the heavens’, and of those true cavaliers whom John saw in 
Patmos, riding on white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and 
clean, knights-errant in the everlasting war against the false 
prophet and the beast ? Let me but become worthy of their 
ranks hereafter, what matter whether I be called Sir Frank on 
earth ? ’ 

‘ My son,’ said Mrs. Leigh, ‘ remember that they follow one 
whose vesture is dipped not in the blood of His enemies, but in 
His own.’ 

‘ I have remembered it for many a day ; and remembered, 
too, that the garments of the knights may need the same tokens 
as their Captain’s.’ 

‘Oh, Frank! Frank! is not His precious blood enough to 
cleanse all sin, without the sacrifice of our own ? ’ 

‘ We may need no more than his blood, mother, and yet Pie 
may need ours,’ said Frank. 

How that conversation ended T know not, nor whether Spen- 
ser fulfilled his purpose of introducing the two brothers and 
their mother into his Fairy Queen. If so, the manuscripts 
must have been lost among those which perished (along with 
Spenser’s baby) in the sack of Kilcolman by the Irish, in 1598. 
But we need liardly regret the loss of them ; for the temper of 
the Leighs and their mother is the same which inspires every 
canto of that noblest of poems ; and which inspired, too, hun- 
dreds in those noble days, when the chivalry of the middle 
age was wedded to the free thought and enterprise of the new. 

So mother and sons returned to Bideford, and set to work. 
Frank mortgaged a farm ; Will Cary did the same (having 
some land of his own from his mother). Old Salterne grum- 
bled at any man save himself spending a penny on the voyage, 
and forced on the adventurers a good ship of two hundred tons 
burthen, and five hundred pounds toward fitting her out ; Mrs. 
Leigh worked day and night at clothes and comforts of every 
kind ; Arnyas had nothing to give but his time and his brains^ 
but, as Salterne said, the rest w'ould have been of little use 
without them ; and day after day, he and the old merchant 
were on board the ship, superintending with their own eyes the 
fitting of every rope and nail. Cary went about beating up 


OF THE GOOD SHIP HOSE. 


309 


recruits, and made, with his jests and his frankness, the best 
of crimps ; while John Brimblecombe, beside himself with 
joy? toddled about after him from tavern to tavern, and quay 
to quay, exalted for the time being (as Cary told him) into a 
second Peter the Hermit; and so fiercely did he preach a 
crusade against the Spaniards, through Bideford and Apple- 
dore, Clovelly and Ilfracombe, that Arnyas might have had a 
hundred and fifty loose fellows in the first fortnight. But he 
knew better: still smarting from the effects of a similar haste 
in the Newfoundland adventure, he had determined to take none 
but picked men ; and by dint of labor he obtained them. 

Only one scapegrace did he take into his crew, named 
Parracombe ; and by that scapegrace hangs a tale. He was 
an old school-fellow of his at Bideford, and son of a merchant 
in that town — one of those unlucky members who are ‘ no- 
body’s enemy but their own’ — a handsome, idle, clever fel- 
low, who used his scholarship, of which he had picked up some 
smattering, chiefly to justify his own escapades, and to string 
songs together. Having drunk all that he was worth at home, 
he had, in a penitent fit, forsworn liquor, and tormented Amyas 
into taking him to sea, where he afterwards made as good a 
sailor as any one else, but sorely scandalized John Brimble- 
combe by all manner of heretical arguments, half Anacreontic, 
half-smacking of the rather loose doctrines of that ‘ Family of 
Love ’ which torme'nted the orthodoxy and morality of more 
than one bishop of Exeter. Poor Will Parracombe! he was 
born a few centuries too early. Had he but lived now, he 
might have published a volume or two of poetry, and theh 
settled down on the staff* of a newspaper. Had he even lived 
thirty years later than he did, he might have written frantic 
tragedies or filthy comedies for the edification of James’s prof- 
ligate metropolis, and roystered it in taverns with Marlowe, to 
die as Marlowe did, by a footman’s sword in a drunken brawl. 
But in those stern days, such weak and hysterical spirits had 
no fair vent* for their ‘ humors,’ save in being reconciled to 
the Church of Rome, and plotting with Jesuits to assassinate 
the Queen, as Parry, and Somerville, and many another mad- 
man did. 

So, at least, some Jesuit or other seems to have thought, 
shortly after Amyas had agreed to give the spendthrift a berth 
on board. For, one day, Amyas going down to Appledore 
about his business, was called into the little Mariners’ Rest 
inn, to extract therefrom poor Will Parracombe, who (in spite 
of his vow) was drunk and outrageous, and had vowed the 
death of the landlady and all her kin. So Amyas fetched him 


310 


THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE 


out by the collar, and walked him home thereby to Bideford ; 
during which walk Will told him a long and confused story ; 
how an Egyptian rogue had met him that morning on the 
sands by Boathythe, offered to tell his fortune, and prophesied 
to him great wealth and honor, but not from the Queen of 
England ; had coaxed him to the Mariners’ Rest, and gam- 
bled with him for liquor, at which it seemed Will always won, 
and of course drank his winnings on the spot; whereon the 
Egyptian began asking him all sorts of questions about the 
projected voyage of the Rose — a good many of which Will 
confessed, he had answered before he saw tlie fellow’s drift ; 
after which the Egyptian had offered him a vast sum of money 
to do some desperate villany ; but whether it was to murder 
Amyas or the Queen, whether to bore a hole in the bottom of 
the good ship Rose, or to set the Torridge on fire by art-magic, 
he was too drunk at the time to recollect exactly. Whereon 
Amyas treated three-quarters of the story as a tipsy dream, and 
contented himself by getting a warrant against the landlady for 
harboring ‘ Egyptians,’ which was then a heavy offence — a 
gipsy disguise being a favorite one with Jesuits and their 
emissaries. She, of course, denied that any gipsy had been 
there ; and though there were some who tjiought they had seen 
such a man come in, none had seen him go out again. On 
which Amyas took occasion to ask, what had become of the 
suspicious Popish hostler whom he had sCen at the Mariners’ 
Rest three years before ; and discovered, to his surprise, that 
the said hostler had vanished from the very day of Don Guz- 
man’s departure from Bideford. There was evidently a mys- 
tery somewhere ; but nothing could be proved ; the landlady 
was dismissed with a reprimand, and Amyas soon forgot the 
whole matter, after rating Parracombe soundly. After all, he 
could not have told the gipsy (if one existed) anything im- 
portant ; for the special destination of the voyage (as was the 
custom in those times, for fear of Jesuits playing into the hands 
of Spain) had been carefully kept secret among the adven- 
^turers themselves, and, except Yeo and Drew, none of the men 
had any suspicion that La Guayra was to be their aim. 

And Salvation Yeo ? 

Salvation was almost wild for a few days, at the sudden 
prospect of going in search of his little maid, and of fighting 
Spaniards once more before he died. I will not quote the texts 
out of Isaiah and the Psalms with which his mouth was filled 
from morning to night, for fear of seeming irreverent in the 
eyes of a generation which does not believe, as Yeo believed, 
that fighting the Spaniards was as really fighting in God’s battle 


OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 


311 


against evil, as were the wars of Joshua or David. But the old 
man had his practical hint, too, and entreated to be sent back to 
Plymouth to look for men. 

‘ There’s many a man of the old Pelican, Sir, and of Captain 
Hawkins’s Minion, that knows the Indies as well as I, and longs 
to be back again. There’s Drew, Sir, that we left behind, 
(and no better sailing-master for us in the west country) ; you 
promised him. Sir, that night he stood by you on board the 
Raleigh ; and if you’ll be as good as your word, he’ll be as 
good as his, and bring a score more brave fellows with him.’ 

So off went Yeo to Plymouth, and returned with Drew and 
a score of old never-strikes. One look at their visages, as. 
Yeo proudly ushered them into the Ship Tavern, showed Amyas 
that they were of the metal which he wanted, and that with 
the four North-Devon men who had gone round the world with 
him in the Pelican (who all joined in the first week), he had a 
reserve force on which he could depend in utter need ; and that 
utter need might come he knew as well any. 

Nor was this all which Yeo had brought; for he had with 
him a letter from Sir Francis Drake, full of regrets that he 
had not seen ‘ his dear lad ’ as he went through Plymouth. 

‘ But indeed 1 was up to Dartmoor, surveying with cross-staff 
and chain, over my knees in bog for a three weeks or more. 
P'or I have a project to bring down a leat of fair water from 
the hill-tops right into Plymouth town, cutting off the heads of 
Tavy, Meavy, Wallcomb, and West Dart, and thereby purging 
Plymouth harbor from the silt of the mines whereby it has 
been choked of late years, and giving pure drink not only to 
the townsmen, but to the fleets of the Queen’s Majesty ; which, 
if 1 do, I shall both make some poor return to God for all His 
unspeakable mercies, and erect unto myself a monument better 
than of brass or marble, not merely honorable to me, but use- 
ful to my countrymen.’ * Whereon Frank sent Drake a 
il pretty epigram, comparing Drake’s projected leat to that river 
of eternal life whereof the just would drink throughout eter- 
nity, and quoting (after the fashion of those days) John vii. 
38 ; while Amyas took more heed of a practical appendage to 
the same letter, which was a list of hints scrawled for his use 
I by Captain John Hawkins himself, on all sea matters, from the 
"mounting of ordnance to the use of vitriol against the scurvy, 
in default of oranges and Mimmons ; ’ all which stood Amyas 
in good stead during the ensuing month, while Frank grew 

■* This noble monument of Drake’s piety and public spirit still remains 
in full use. 


312 CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE. 

more and more proud of his brother, and more and more 
humble about himself. 

For he watched with astonishment how the simple sailor, 
without genius, scholarship, or fancy, had gained, by plain 
honesty, patience, and common sense, a power over the human 
heart, and a power over his work, whatsoever it might be, 
which Frank could only admire afar off. The men looked up 
to him as infallible, prided themselves on forestalling his 
wishes, carried out his slightest hint, worked early and late to 
win a smile from him ; while, as for him, no detail escaped 
him, no drudgery sickened him, no disappointment angered 
him, till on the 15th of November, 1583, dropped down from 
Bideford Quay to Appledore Pool the tall ship Rose, with a 
hundred men on board (for sailors packed close in those days), 
beef, pork, biscuit, and good ale (for ale went to sea always 
then) in abundance, four culverins on her main deck, her poop 
and forecastle well fitted with swivels of every size, and her 
racks so full of muskets, calivers, long bows, pikes and swords, 
that all agreed so well appointed a ship had never sailed ‘ out 
over Bar.’ 

The next day being Sunday, the whole crew received the 
Communion together at Northam Church, amid a mighty 
crowd ; and then going on board again, hove anchor and sailed 
out over the Bar before a soft east wind, to the music of sack- 
but, fife and drum, with discharge of all ordnance, great and 
small, with cheering of young and old from cliff and strand 
and quay, and with many a tearful prayer and blessing upon 
that gallant bark, and all brave hearts on board. 

And Mrs. Leigh, who had kissed her sons for the last time 
after the Communion at the altar-steps, (and what more fit 
place for a mother’s kiss ?) went to the rocky knoll outside the 
churchyard wall, and watched the ship glide out between the 
yellow denes, and lessen slowly hour by hour into the bound- 
. less west, till her hull sank below the dim horizon,* and her 
white sails faded away into the gray Atlantic mist, perhaps for 
ever. 

And Mrs. Leigh gathered her cloak about her, and bowed 
her head and worshipped ; and then went home to loneliness 
and prayer. 


HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, ETC. 


313 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, AND FOUND NO MAN 
THEREIN. 

* The sun’s nm dips ; the stars rush out ; 

At one stride comes the dark.’ 

Coleridge. 

Land ! land ! land ! Yes, there it was, far away to the south 
and west, beside the setting sun, a long blue bar between the 
crimson sea and golden sky. Land at last, with fresh streams 
and cooling fruits, and free room for cramped and scurvy- 
weakened limbs. And there, too, might be gold, and gems, 
and all the wealth of Ind. Who knew ? Why not ? The 
old world of fact and prose lay thousands of miles behind them, 
and before them and around them was the realm of wonder and 
fable, of boundless hope and possibility. Sick men crawled up 
out of their stifling hammocks; strong men fell on their knees 
and gave God thanks ; and all eyes and hands were stretched 
eagerly toward the far blue cloud, fading as the sun sank 
down, yet rising higher and broader as the ship rushed on 
before the rich trade-wind, which whispered lovingly round 
brow and sail, ‘1 am the faithful friend of those who dare!’ 
‘ Blow freshly, freshlier yet, thou good trade-wind, of whom it is 
written, that He makes the winds His angels, ministering breaths 
to the heirs of His salvation. Blow freshlier yet, and save, if 
not me from death, yet her from worse than death. Blow on, 
and land me at her feet, to call the lost lamb home, and die ! ’ • 

So murmured Frank to himself, as with straining eyes he 
gazed upon that first outlier of the New World which held his 
all. His cheeks were thin and wasted, and the hectic spot on’ 
each glowed crimson in the crimson light of the setting sun. 
A few minutes more, and the rainbows of the west were gone; 
emerald and topaz, amethyst and ruby, had faded into silver- 
gray ; and overhead, through the dark sapphire depths, the 
moon and Venus reigned above the sea. 

‘ That should be Barbados, your worship,’ said Drew, the 
master ; ‘ unless my reckoning is far out, which. Heaven knows, 
it has no right to be, after such a passage, and God be praised.’ 

27 


314 


HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, 


‘ Barbados ? I never heard of it.’ 

‘Very like, Sir: but Yeo and I were here with Captain 
Drake, and 1 was here after too with poor Captain Barlow ; 
and there is good harborage to the south and west of it, 1 
remember.’ 

‘ And neither Spaniard, cannibal, or other evil beast,’ said 
Yeo. ‘A very garden of the Lord, Sir, hid away in the seas, 
for an inheritance to those who love him. I heard Captain 
Drake talk of planting it, if ever he had a chance.’ 

‘ I recollect now,’ said Amyas, ‘ some talk between him and 
poor Sir Humphrey about an island here. Would God he had 
gone thither instead of to Newfoundland !’ 

‘ Nay, then,’ said Yeo, ‘he is in bliss now with the Lord ; 
and you would not have kept him from that. Sir.’ 

‘ He would have waited as willingly as he went, if he could 
have served his Queen thereby. But what say you, my mas- 
ters ? How can we do better than to spend a few days here, 
to get our sick round, before we make the Mijpin, and set to our 
work ? ’ 

All approved the counsel except Frank, who was silent. 

‘ Come, fellow-adventurer,’ said Cary, ‘ we must have your 
voice, too.’ 

‘ To my impatience. Will,’ said he, aside in a low voice, 
‘ there is but one place on earth, and I am all day longing for 
wings to fly thither : but the counsel is right. I approve it.’ 

So the verdict was announced, and received with a hearty 
cheer by the crew ; and long before morning they had run 
along the southern shore of the island, and were feeling their 
way into the bay where Bridgetown now stands. All eyes 
were eagerly fixed on the low wooded hills which slept in the 
moonlight, spangled by fire-flies with a million dancing stars ; 
all nostrils drank greedily the fragrant air, which swept from 
the land, laden with the scent of a thousand flowers; all ears 
w'elcomed, as a grateful change from the monotonous whisper 
and lap of the water, the hum of insects, the snore of the tree- 
toads, the plaintive notes of the shore-fowl, which fill a tropic 
night with noisy life. 

At last she stopped ; at last the cable rattled through the 
hawse-hole ; and then, careless of the chance of lurking Span- 
iard or Carib, an instinctive cheer burst from every throat. 
Poor fellows, Amyas had much ado to prevent them going on 
shore at once, dark as it was, by reminding them that it wanted 
but two hours of day. 

‘ Never were two such long hours,’ said one young lad, 
fidgeting up an'd down. 


AND FOUND NO MAN THEREIN. 


315 


‘ You never were in the Inquisition,’ said Yeo, ‘ or you’d 
know better how slow lime can run. Stand you still, and give 
God thanks you’re where you are.’ 

‘ I say, Gunner, be there goold to that island ? ’ 

* Never heard of none ; and so much the better for it,’ said 
Yeo, drily. 

‘ But I say. Gunner,’ said a poor scurvy-stricken cripple, 
licking his lips, ‘ be there oranges and limmons there ? ’ 

‘ Not of my seeing ; but plenty of good fruit down to the 
beach, thank the Lord. There comes the dawn at last.’ 

Up flushed the rose, up rushed the sun, and the level rays 
glittered on the smooth stems of the palm-trees, and threw rain- 
bows across the foam upon the coral reefs, and gilded lonely 
uplands far away, where now stands many a stately country- 
seat and busy engine-house. Long lines of pelicans went 
clanging out to sea; the hum of the insects hushed, and a 
thousand birds burst into jubilant song; a thin blue mist crept 
upward toward the inner downs, and vanished, leaving them to 
quiver in the burning glare ; the land-breeze, which had blown 
fresh out to sea all night, died away into glassy calm, and the 
tropic day was begun. 

The sick were lified over the side, and landed boat-load after 
boat-load on the beach, to stretch themselves in the shade of the 
palms; and in half an hour the whole crew was scattered on 
the shore, except some dozen worthy men, who had volun- 
teered to keep watch and ward on board till noon. 

And now the first instinctive cry of nature was for fruit ! 
fruit! fruit! The poor lame wretches crawled from place to 
place, plucking greedily the violet^rapes of the creeping shore- 
vine, and staining their mouths and blistering their lips with 
the prickly pears, in spite of Yeo’s entreaties and warnings 
against the thorns. Some of the healthy began hewing down 
cocoa-nut trees to get at the nuts, doing little thereby but blunt 
their hatchets ; till Yeo and Drew, having mustered half-a-dozen 
reasonable men, went off inland, and returned in an hour laden 
with the dainties of that primseval orchard, — with acid junipa- 
apples, luscious guavas, and crowned ananas, queen of all the 
fruits, which they had found by hundreds on the broiling ledges 
of the low tufa-clifls; and then all, sitting on the sandy turf, 
defiant of galliwasps and jack-spaniards, and all the weapons of 
the insect host, partook of the equal banquet, while old blue 
land-crabs sat in their house-doors and brandished their fists in 
defiance at the invaders, and solemn cranes stood in the water 
on the shoals with their heads on one side, and meditated how 


316 


HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, 


long it was since they had seen bipeds without feathers breaii- 
ing the solitude of their isle. 

And Frank wandered up and down, silent, but rather in 
wonder than in sadness, while great Amyas walked after him, 
his mouth full of junipa-apples, and enacted the part of show- 
man, with a sort of patronizing air, as one who had seen the 
wonders already, and was above being astonished at them. 

‘ New, new, everything new ! ’ said Frank, meditatively. 

‘ Oh, awful feeling ! All things changed around us, even to 
the tiniest fly and flower; yet we the same; the same for 
ever ! ’ 

Amyas, to whom such utterances were* altogether sibylline 
and unintelligible, answered by, — 

‘ Look, Frank, that’s a colibri. You’ve heard of colibris ? ’ 

Frank looked at the living gem, which hung, loud humming, 
over some fantastic bloom, and then dashed away, seemingly 
to call its mate, and whirred and danced with it round and 
round the flower-starred bushes, flashing fresh rainbows at 
every shifting of the lights. 

Frank watched solemnly awhile, and then, — 

‘ Qualis Natura formatrix^ si talis formala 1 Oh, my God, 
how fair must be Thy real world, if even Thy phantoms are so 
fair ! ’ 

‘ Phantoms ? ’ asked Amyas, uneasily. * That’s no ghost, 
Frank, but a jolly little honey-sucker, with a wee wife, and 
children no bigger than peas, but yet solid greedy little fellows 
enough, I’ll warrant.’ 

‘ Not phantoms in thy sense, good fellow, but in the sense of 
those who know the worthle^ness of all below.’ 

* I’ll tell you what, brother Frank, you are a great deal 
wiser than me, I know ; but I can’t abide to see you turn up 
your nose, as it .were, at God’s good earth. See now, God 
made all these things ; and never a man, perhaps, set eyes on 
them till fifty years agone ; and yet they were as pretty as 
they are now, ever since the making of the world. And why 
do you think God could have put them here, then, but to please 
Himself’ — and Amyas took off his hat — ‘with the sight of 
thern ? Now, I say, brother Frank, what’s good enough to 
please God, is good enough to please you and me.’ 

‘ Your rebuke is just, dear old simple-hearted fellow ; and 
God forgive me, if with all my learning, which has brought 
me no profit, and my longings, which have brought me no 
peace, I presume at moments, sinner that I am, to be more 
dainty than the Lord himself. He walked in Paradise among 
the trees of the garden, Amyas ; and so will we, and be con- 


AND FOUND NO MAN THEREIN. 


317 


tent with whftt he sends. Why should we long for the next 
world, before we are fit even for this one ? ’ 

‘ And in the meanwhile,’ said Amyas, ‘ this earth’s quite 
good enough, at least here in Barbados.’ 

‘Do you believe,’ asked Frank, trying to turn his own^ 
thoughts, ‘ in those tales of the Spaniards, that the Sirens and 
Tritons are heard singing in these seas ?•’ 

‘ I can’t tell. There’s more fish in the water than ever came 
out of it, and more wonders in the world. I’ll warrant, than we 
ever dreamt of ; but I was never in these parts before ; and in 
the South Seas, I must say, I never came across any, though 
Yeo says he has heard fair music at night up in the Gulf, far 
away from land.’ 

‘ The Spaniards report, that at certain seasons choirs of 
these nymphs assemble in the sea, and with ravishing music 
sing their watery loves. It may be so. For Nature, which 
has peopled the land with rational souls, may not have left the 
sea altogether barren of them ; above all, when we remember 
that the ocean is, as it were, the very fount of all fertility, and its 
slime (as the most learned hold with Thales of Miletus), that 
prima materia out of which all things were one by one con- 
cocted. Therefore, the ancients feigned wisely, that Venus, 
the mother of all living things, whereby they designed the 
plastic force of nature, was born of the sea-foam, and rising 
from the deep, floated ashore upon the isles of Greece.’ 

‘ I don’t know what plastic force is ; but I wish I had had 
the luck to be by when the pretty poppet came up : however, 
the nearest thing I ever saw to that was maidens swimming 
alongside of us when we were in the South Seas, and would 
have come aboard, too ; but Drake sent them all off again for 
a lot of naughty packs, and I verily believe they were no better. 
Look at the butterflies, now ! Don’t you wish you were a boy 
again, and not too proud to go catching them in your cap ? ’ 

And so the two wandered on together through the glorious 
tropic woods, and then returned to the beach to find the sick 
already grown cheerful, and many who that morning could not 
stir from their hammocks, pacing up and down, and gaining 
strength with every step. 

‘ VVell done, lads!’ cried Amyas, ‘ keep a cheerful mind. 
We will have the music ashore after dinner, for want of mer- 
maids to sing to us, and those that can dance may.’ 

And so those four days were spent; and the men, like 
school-boys on a holiday, gave themselves up to simple merri- 
ment, not forgetting, however, to wash the clothes, take in fresh 
water, and store up a good supply of such fruit as seemed 
27 * 


318 HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, ETC. 

likely to keep ; until, tired with fruitless rambles after gold, 
which they expected to find in every bush in spite of Yeo’s 
warnings that none had been heard of on the island, they were 
fain to lounge about, full-grown babies, picking up shells and 
sea-fans to take home to their sweethearts, smoking agoutis out 
of the hollow trees, with shout and laughter, and tormenting 
every living thing they could come near, till not a land-crab 
dare look out of his hole, or an armadillo unrol himself, till 
they were safe out of the bay, and off again to the westward, 
unconscious pioneers of all the wealth, and commerce, and 
beauty, and science, which has in later centuries made that 
lovely isle the richest gem of all the tropic seas. • 


HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS AT MARGARITA. 319 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOW. THEY TOOK THE PEARLS AT MARGARITA. 

P- Henry. — Why, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise him so for 
running. 

Falstuff. — O’ horseback, ye cuckoo ! but a-foot, he will not budge a 
foot. 

P. Henry. — Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 

Falstaff. — I grant ye, upon instinct. 

Henry IV. Ft. I. 

They had slipped past the southern point of Grenada in the 
night, and were at last within that fairy ring of islands, On 
which nature had concentrated all her beauty, and man all his 
sin. If Barbados had been invested in the eyes of the new- 
comers with some strange glory, how much more the seas on 
which they now entered, which smile in almost perpetual calm, 
untouched by the hurricane which roars past them far to north- 
ward ? Sky, sea, and islands were one vast rainbow ; though 
little marked, perhaps, by those sturdy practical sailors, whose 
main thought was of Spanish gold and pearls ; and as little by 
Amyas, who, accustomed to the scenery of the tropics, was 
speculating inwardly on the possibility of extirpating the Span- 
iards, and annexing the West Indies to the domains of Queen 
Elizabeth. And yet even their unpoetic eyes could not behold 
without awe and excitement lands so famous and yet so new, 
around which all the wonder, all the pity, and all the greed of 
the age had concentrated itself. It was an awful thought, and 
yet inspiriting, that they were entering regions all but unknown 
to Englishmen, where the penalty of failure would be worse 
than death — the torments of the Inquisition. Not more than 
five times before, perhaps, had those mysterious seas been 
visited by English keels : but there were those on board who 
knew them well, and too well ; who, first of all British mari- 
ners, had attempted under Captain John Hawkins to trade along 
those very coasts, and, interdicted from the necessaries of life 
by Spanish jealousy, had, in true English fashion, won their 


320 


HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS 


markets at the sword’s point, and then bought and sold honestly 
and peaceably therein. The old mariners of the Pelican and 
the Minion were questioned all day long for the names of every 
isle and cape, every fish and bird ; while Frank stood by, lis- 
tening, serious and silent. 

A great awe seemed to have possessed his soul : yet not a 
sad one ; for his face seemed daily to drink in glory from the 
glory round him ; and murmuring to himself at whiles, ‘ This 
is the gate to heaven,’ he stood watching all day long, careless 
of food and rest, as every forward plunge of the ship displayed 
some fresh wonder. Islands and capes hung high in air, with 
their inverted images below them ; long sand-hills rolled and 
weltered in the mirage ; and the yellow flower-beds, and huge 
thorny cacti like giant candelabra, which clothed their glaring 
slopes, twisted, tossed, and flickered, till the whole scene seemed 
one blazing phantom-world, in which everything was as unsta- 
ble as it was fantastic, even to the sun itself, distorted into 
strange oval and pear-shaped figures by the beds of crimson 
mist through which he sank to rest. But while Frank won- 
dered, Yeo rejoiced ; for to the southward of that setting sun a 
cfuster ‘of tall peaks rose from the sea ; and they, unless his 
reckonings were wrong, were the mountains of Macanao, at the 
western end of Margarita the Isle of Pearls, then famous in all 
the cities of the Mediterranean, and at the great German fairs, 
and second only in richness to that pearl island in the Gulf of 
Panama, which, fifteen years before, had cost John Oxenham 
his life. 

The next day saw them running along the north side of the 
island, having passed undiscovered (as far as they could see) 
the castle which the Spaniards had built at the eastern end for 
the protection of the pearl-fisheries. 

At last they opened a deep and still bight, wooded to the 
water’s edge ; and lying in the roadstead a caravel, and three 
boats by her. And at that sight there was not a man but was 
on deck at once, and not a mouth but was giving its opinion of 
what should be' done. Some were for sailing right into the 
roadstead, the breeze blowing fresh toward the shore (as it 
usually does throughout those islands in the afternoon). How- 
e/er, seeing the billows break here and there off* the bay’s 
mouth, they thought it better, for fear of rocks, to ru-n by qui- 
etly, and then send in the pinnace and the boat. Yeo would 
have had them show Spanish colors, for fear of alarming the 
caravel ; but Amyas stoutly refused. Counting it,’ he said, ‘ a 
mean thing to tell a lie in that way, unless in extreme danger, 
or for great ends of state.’ 


AT MARGARITA. 


321 


So holding on their course till they were shut out by the next 
point, they started ; Cary in the largest boat with twenty men, 
and Amyas in the smaller one with fifteen more ; among whom 
was John Brirnblecombe, who must needs come in his cassock 
and bands, with an old sword of his uncle’s which he prized 
mightily. 

When they came to the bight’s mouth, they found, as they 
had expected, coral rocks, and too many of them ; so that they 
had to run along the edge of the reef a long way, before they 
could find a passage for the boats. While they were so doing, 
and those of them who were new to the Indies were admiring 
through the clear element those living flower-beds, and sub- 
aqueous gardens of Nereus and Amphitrite, there suddenly 
appeared below what Yeo called ‘a school of sharks,’ some of 
them nearly as long as the boat, who looked up at them wist- 
fully enough out of their wicked scowling eyes. 

‘ Jack,’ said Amyas, who sat next to him, ‘ look how that big 
fellow eyes thee ; he has surely taken a fancy to that plump 
hide of thine, and thinks thou wouldst eat as tender as any 
sucking porker.’ 

Jack turned very pale, but said nothing. 

Now, as it befell, just then that very big fellow, seeing a 
parrot-fish come out of a cleft of the coral, made at him from 
below, as did two or three more ; the poor fish, finding no other 
escape, leaped clean into the air, and almost aboard the boat ; 
while just where he had come out of the water, three or four 
great brown shagreened noses clashed together within two yards 
of Jack, as he sat, each showing its horrible rows of saw-teeth, 
and then sank sulkily down again, to watch for a fresh bait. 
At which Jack said very softly, ‘ In manus tuas, Domine ! ’ and 
turning his eyes inboard, had no lust to look at sharks any 
more. 

So having got through the reef, in they ran with a fair breeze 
the caravel not being now a musket-shot off. Cary laid her 
aboard before the Spaniards had time to get to their ordnance ; 
and standing up in the stern-sheets, shouted to them to yield. 
The captain asked boldly enough. In whose name } ‘ In the 

name of common -sense, ye dogs,’ cries Will ; ‘ do you not see 
that you are but fifty strong to our twenty ? ’ Whereon up the 
side he scrambled, and the captain fired a pistol at him. Cary 
knocked him over, unwilling to shed needless blood ; on which 
all the crew yielded, some fhlling on their knees, some leaping 
overboard : and the prize was taken. 

In the meanwhile, Amyas had pulled round under her stern, 
and boarded the boat which was second from her, for the near- 


322 


HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS 


est was fast alongside, and so a sure prize. The Spaniards in* 
her yielded without a blow, crying ‘ Misericordia ; ’ and the 
negroes, leaping overboard, swam ashore like sea-dogs. Mean- 
while the third boat, which was not an oar’s length off, turned 
to pull away. Whereby befell a notable adventure : for John 
Brimblecombe, casting about in a valiant mind how he should 
distinguish himself that day, must needs catch up a boat-hook, 
and claw on to her stern, shouting, ‘Stay, ye Papists! Stay, 
Spanish dogs!’ — by which, as was to be expected, they being 
ten to his one, he was forthwith pulled overboard, and fell all 
along on his nose in the sea, leaving the hook fast in her stern. 

Where, 1 know not how, being seized with some panic fear 
(his lively imagination filling all the sea with those sharks 
which he had just seen), he fell a-roaring like any town bull, 
and in his confusion never thought to turn and get aboard again, 
but struck out lustily after the Spanish boat, whether in hope of 
catching hold of the boat-hook which trailed behind her, or 
from a very madness of valor, no man could divine ; but on he 
swam, his cassock afloat behind him, looking for all the world 
like a great black monk-fish, and howling and puffing, with his 
mouth full of salt water, ‘Stay, ye Spanish dogs! Help, all 
good fellows ! See you not that I am a dead man ? They are 
nuzzling already at my toes ! He hath hold of my leg ! My 
right thigh is bitten clean off! Oh! that 1 were preaching in 
Hartland pulpit ! Stay, Spanish dogs ! Yield, Papist cowards, 
lest I make mince-meat of you ; and take me aboard ! Yield, 
I say, or my blood be on your heads ! I am no Jonah ; if he 
swallow me, he will never' cast me up again! It is better to 
fall into the hands of man, than into the hands of devils with 
three rows of teeth apiece. In manus tuas. Orate pro 
anima ! ’ 

And so forth, in more frantic case than ever was Panurge in 
that his ever-memorable sea-sickness ; till the English, expect- 
ing him every minute to be snapped up by sharks, or brained 
by the Spaniards’ oars, let fly a volley into the fugitives, on 
which they all* leaped overboard like their fellows ; whereon 
Jack scrambled into the boat, and drawing sword with one 
hand, while he wiped the water out of his eyes with the other, 
began to lay about him like a very lion, cutting the empty air, 
and crying, ‘Yield, idolaters! Yield, Spanish dogs ! ’ How- 
ever, coming to himself after awhile, and seeing that there was 
no one on whom to flesh his- maiden steel, he sits down panting 
in the stern-sheets, and begins stripping off his hose. On which 
Amyas, thinking surely that the good fellow had gone mad with 
some stroke of the sun, or by having fallen into the sea after 


AT MARGARITA. 


323 


being over-heated with his rowing, bade pull alongside, and 
asked him in Heaven’s name what he was doing with his nether 
tackle. On which Jack, amid such laughter as may be con- 
ceived, vowed and swore that his right thigh was bitten clean 
through, and to the bone; yea, and that he felt his hose full of 
blood ; and so would have swooned away for imaginary loss of 
blood (so strong was the delusion on him), had not his friends 
after much arguing on their part, and anger on his, persuaded 
him that he was whole and sound. 

After which they set to work to overhaul their maiden prize, 
which they found full of hides and salt pork ; and yet not of 
that alone ; for in the captain’s cabin, and also in the stern- 
sheets of the boat which Brimblecome had so valorously 
boarded, were certain frails of leaves packed neatly enough, 
which being opened were full of goodly pearls, though some- 
what brown (for the Spaniards used to damage the color in their 
haste and greediness, opening the shells by fire, instead of 
leaving them to decay gradually, after the Arabian fashion) ; 
with which prize, though they could not guess its value very 
exactly, they went off content enough, after some malicious 
fellow had set the ship on fire, which, being laden with hides, 
was no nosegay as it burnt. 

Amyas was very angry at this wanton damage, in which his 
model, Drake, had never indulged ; but Cary had his jest ready. 
‘ Ah ! ’ said he, ‘ “ Lutheran devils ” we are, you know ; so we 
are bound to vanish, like other fiends, with an evil savor.’ 

As soon, however, as Amyas was on board again, he rounded 
his friend Mr. Brimblecombe in the ear, and told him he had 
better play the man a little more, roaring less before he was 
hurt, and keeping his breath to help his strokes, if he wished 
the crew to listen much to his discourses. Frank, hearing this, 
bade Amyas leave the offender to him, and so began upon him 
with, — 

‘ Come hither, thou recreant Jack, thou lily-livered Jack, thou 
hysterical Jack. Tell me, now, thou hast read Plato’s Dia- 
logues and Aristotle’s Logic ? ’ 

To which Jack very meekly answered, ‘Yes.’ 

Frank . — Then I will deal with thee after the manner of those 
ancient sages, and ask whether the greater must not contain 
the less } 

Jack. — Yes, sure. ^ , 

Frank. — And that which is more than a part contain that 
part, more than which it is ? 

Jack. — Yes, sure. 


324 


HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS 


Frank. — Then tell me, is not a priest more than a lay- 
man ? 

Jack (who was always very loud about the dignity of the 
priesthood, as many of his cloth are, who have no other dignity 
whereon to stand), answered very boldly — Of course. 

Frank. — Then a priest containeth a man, and is a man, and 
something over — viz., his priesthood } 

Jack (who saw whither this would lead) — I suppose so. 

Frank. — Then, if a priest show himself no man, he shows 
himself all the more no priest.? 

Jack. — ril tell you what. Master Frank, you may be 
right by logic ; but sharks aren’t logic, nor don’t understand it 
neither. 

Frank. — Nay but, my recalcitrant Jack, my stiff-necked Jack, 
is it the part of a man to howl like a pig in a gate, because he 
thinks that is there which is not there .? 

Jack had not a word to say. 

Frank. — And still, more, when if that had been there, it had 
been the duty of a brave man to have kept his mouth shut, if 
only to keep salt water out, and not add the evil of choking to 
that of being eaten .? 

Jack. — Ah ! that’s all very fine ; but you know as well 
as I, that it was not the Spaniards I was afraid of. They 
were Heaven’s handiwork, and I knew how to deal with them ; 
but as for those fiends’ spawn of sharks, when I saw that fel- 
low take the fish alongside, it upset me clean, and there’s an 
end of it ! 

- Frank. — Oh, Jack, Jack, behold, how one sin begets another ! 
Just now thou wert but a coward, and now thou art a Manichee. 
For thou hast imputed to an evil creator that which was formed 
only for a good end, namely, sharks, which were made on pur- 
pose to devour useless carcasses like thine. Moreover, as a 
brother of the Rose, thou wert bound by the vow of thy broth- 
erhood to have leaped joyfully down that shark’s mouth. 

Jack. — Ay, very likely, if Mistress Rose had been in his 
stomach; but I wanted to fight Spaniards just then, not to be 
shark-bitten. 

Frank. — Jack, thy answer savors of self-will. If it is 
ordained that thou shouldst advance the ends of the brotherhood 
by being shark-bitten, or flea-bitten, or bitten by sharpers, to 
the detriment of thy carnal wealth, or, shortly, to suffer any 
shame or torment whatsoever, even to strappado and scarpines, 
thou art bound to obey thy destiny, and not, after that vain 
Roman conceit, to choose the manner of thine own death, 


AT MARGARITA. 


325 


which is, indeed, only another sort of self-murder. We there- 
fore consider thee as a cause of scandal, and a rotten and creak- 
ing branch, to be excised by the spiritual arm, and do hereby 
excise thee, and cut thee off. 

Jack. — Nay, faith, that’s a little too much. Master Frank. 
How long have you been Bishop of Exeter.? 

Frank. — Jack, thy wit being blinded, and full of gross vapors, 
by reason of the perturbations of fear (which, like anger, is a 
short madness), and raises in the phantasy vain spectres {vide- 
licet., of sharks and Spaniards), mistakes our lucidity. For thy 
Manicheeism, let his I^ordship of Exeter deal with it. For thy 
abominable howling and caterwauling, offensive in a chained 
cur, but scandalous in a preacher and a brother of the Rose, we 
do hereby deprive thee, of thine office of chaplain to the brother- 
hood ; and warn thee, that unless within seven days thou do 
some deed equal to the Seven Champions, or Ruggiero and Or- 
lando’s self, thou shalt be deprived of sword and dagger, and 
allowed henceforth to carry no more iron about thee than will 
serve to mend thy pen. 

‘ And now. Jack, said Amyas, ‘ I will give thee a piece of 
news. No wonder that young men, as the parsons complain 
so loudly, will not listen to the Gospel, while it is preached to 
them by men on whom they cannot but look down ; a set of 
soft-handed fellows who cannot dig, and are ashamed to beg; 
and, as my brother has it, must needs be parsons before they are 
men.’ 

Frank. — Ay, and even though we may excuse that in 
popish priests and friars, who are vowed not to be men, and get 
their bread shamefully and rascally by telling sinners who owe 
a hundred measures to sit down quickly and take their bill and 
write fifty ; yet for a priest of the Church of England, (whose 
business is not merely to smuggle sinful souls up the back- 
stairs into heaven, but to make men good Christians by mak- 
ing them good men, good gentlemen, and good Englishmen,) 
to show the while feather in the hour of need, is to un- 
preach in one minute all that he had been preaching his life- 
long. 

‘ 1 tell thee,’ says Amyas, ‘ if I had not taken thee for 
another guess sort of man, I had never let thee have the care 
of a hundred brave lads’ immortal souls ’ 

And so on, both of them boarding him at once with their 
heavy shot, larboard and starboard, till he fairly clapped his 
hands to his ears and ran for it, leaving poor Frank laughing 
so lieartiK^ that Amyas was, after all, glad the thing had hap- 
28 


326 


HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS 


pened, for the sake of the smile which it put into his sad and 
steadfast countenance. 

The next day was Sunday ; on which, after divine service 
(which they could hardly persuade Jack to read, so shamefaced 
was he ; and, as for preaching after it, he would not hear of 
such a thing), Amyas read aloud, according to custom, the arti- 
cles of their agreement ; and then, seeing abreast of them a 
sloping beach with a shoot of clear water running into the sea, 
agreed that they should land there, wash the clothes, and again 
w'ater the ship ; for they had found water somewhat scarce at 
Barbados. On this party Jack Brimblecornbe must needs go, 
taking with him his sword and a great arquebuse ; for he had 
dreamed last night (he said), that he was set upon by Spaniards, 
and was sure that the dream would come true ; and moreover, 
that he did not very much care if they did, or if he ever got 
back alive ; ‘ for it was better to die than be made an ape and 
a scarecrow, and laughed at by the men, and badgered with 
Ramus his logic, and Plato his dialectical devilries, to confess 
himself a Manichee, and, for ought he knew, a turbaned Turk, 
or Hebrew Jew,’ and so flung into the boat like a man des^ 
perate. 

So they went ashore, after Amyas had given strict com- 
mands against letting off fire-arms, for fear of alarming the 
Spaniards. There they washed their clothes, and stretched 
their legs with great joy, admiring the beauty of the place, and 
then began to shoot the seine which they had brought on shore 
with them.. ‘ In which,’ says the chronicler, ‘ we caugiit many 
strange fishes, and beside them, a sea-cow full seven feet long, 
with limpets and barnacles on her back, as if she had been a 
stick of drift-timber. This is a fond and foolish beast ; and yet 
pious withal ; for finding a corpse she watches over it day and 
night, until it decay or be buried. The Indians call her rnanati ; 
who carries her young under her arm, and gives it suck like a 
woman ; and being wounded, she lamenteth aloud with a human 
voice, and is said at certain seasons to sing very melodiously ; 
which melody, perhaps, having been heard in those seas, is that 
which Mr. Frank reported to be the choirs of the Sirens and 
Tritons. Th'e which I do not avouch for truth, neither rashly 
deny, having seen myself such fertility of Nature’s wonders, 
that I hold him who denieth aught merely for its strangeness, 
to be a ribald and an ignoramus. Also one of our men brought 
in two great black fowls which he had shot with a cross-bow, 
bodied and headed like a capon, but bigger than any eagle, 
which the Spaniards call curassos ; which, with that sea-cow, 
afterwards made us good cheer, both roast and sodden, for the 


AT MARGAKITA. 


327 


cow was very dainty meat, as good as a four-months’ calf, and 
tender and fat withal.’ 

After that they sat to work filling the casks and barricos, 
having laid the boat up to the outflow of the rivulet. And lucky 
for them it was, as it fell out, that they were all close together 
at that work, and not abroad skylarking as they had been half 
an hour before. 

Now John Brimblecombe had gone apart as soon as they 
landed, with a shamefaced and doleful countenance ; and sitting 
down under a great tree, plucked a Bible from his bosom, and 
read steadfastly, girded with his great sword, and his arquebuse 
lying by him. This too was well for him, and for the rest ; for 
they had not yet finished their watering, when there was a cry 
that the enemy was on them ; and out of the wood, not twenty 
yards from the good parson, came full fifty shot with a multi- 
tude of negroes behind them, and an officer in front on horse- 
back, with a great plume of feathers in his hat, and his sword 
drawn in his hand. 

‘ Stand, for your lives!’ shouted Amyas ; and only just in 
time ; for there were ten good minutes lost in running up and 
down before he could get his men into some order of battle. 
But when Jack beheld the Spaniards, as if he had expected 
their coming, he plucked a leaf and put it into the page of his 
book for a mark, laid the book down soberly, caught up his 
arquebuse, ran like a mad dog right at the Spanish captain, 
shot him through the body stark dead, and then, flinging the 
arquebuse at the head of him who stood next, fell on with his 
sword like a very Colbrand, breaking in among the arquebuses, 
and striking right and left such ugly strokes, that the Spaniards 
(who thought him a very fiend, or Luther’s self come to life to 
plague them) gave back pell-mell, and shot at him five or six 
at once with their arquebuses ; but whether from fear of him, 
or of wounding each other, made so bad play with their pieces, 
that he only got one shrewd gall in his thigh, which made him 
limp for many a day. But as fast as they gave back he came on ; 
and the rest by this time ran up in good order, and altogether 
nearly forty men well armed. On which the Spaniards turned, 
and went as fast as they had come, while Cary hinted that, 
‘ The dogs had had such a taste of the parson, that they had no 
mind to wait for the clerk and people.’ 

‘ Come back, Jack 1 are you mad ? ’ shouted Amyas. 

But Jack (who had not all this time spoken one word) fol- 
lowed them as fiercely as ever, till reaching a great blow at one 
of the arquebusiers, he caught his foot in a root. On which 
down he went, and striking his head against the ground, 


328 


HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS 


knocked out of himself all the breath he had left (which 
between fatness and fighting was not much), and so lay. 
Amyas, seeing the Spaniards gone, did not care to pursue them, 
but picked up Jack, who, staring about, cried ‘ Glory be ! glory 
be ! — How many have I killed ? How many have I killed ? ’ 

‘ Nineteen, at the least,’ quoth Cary, ‘ and seven with one 
back stroke ; ’ and then showed Brimblecombe, the captain, lying 
dead, and two arquebusiers, one of which was the fugitive by 
whom he came to his fall, besides three or four more who were 
limping away wounded, some of them by their fellows’ shot. 

‘ There! ’ said Jack, pausing and blowing, ‘ will you laugh at 
me any more, Mr. Cary ; or say that I cannot fight, because I 
am a poor parson’s son ? ’ 

Cary took him by the hand, and asked pardon of him for his 
scoffing, saying that he had that day played the best man of all 
of them ; and Jack, who never bore malice, began laughing in 
his turn, and — 

‘ Oh, Mr. Cary, we have all known your pleasant ways, ever 
since.you used to put drumble-drones into my desk to Bideford 
school.’ And so they went to the boats, and pulled off, thank- 
ing God (as they had need to do) for their great deliverance, 
while all the boats’ crew rejoiced over Jack, who after awhile 
grew very faint (having bled a good deal without knowing it), 
and made as little of his real wound as he made much the day 
before of his imaginary one. 

Frank asked him that evening, how he came to show so cool 
and approved a valor in so sudden a mishap. 

‘ Well, my masters,’ said Jack, ‘ 1 don’t deny that I was very 
downcast on account of what you said, and the scandal which I 
had given to the crew ; but, as it happened, I was reading there 
under the tree, to fortify my spirits, the history of the ancient 
worthies, in St. Paul, his eleventh chapter to the Hebrews; 
and just as I came to that, “ out of weakness were made strong, 
waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens,”- 
arose the cry of the Spaniards. At which, gentlemen, thinking 
in myself that I fought in just so good a cause as they, and, as 
I hoped, with like faith, there came upon me so strange an as- 
surance of victory, that I verily believed in myself that if there 
had been a ten thousand of them, I should have taken no hurt. 
Wherefore,’ said Jack modestly, ‘ there is no credit due to me, 
for there was no valor in me whatsoever, but only a certainty of 
safety ; and any coward would fight, if he knew that he were 
to have all the killing, and none 'of the scratches.’ 

Which words he next day, being Sunday, repeated in his 
sermon which he made on that chapter, with which all, even 


AT MARGARITA. 


329 


Salvation Yeo himself, were well content and edified, and al- 
lowed him to be as godly a preacher as he was (in spite of his 
simple ways) a valiant and true hearted comrade. 

They brought away the Spanish officer’s sword (a very good 
blade), and also a great chain of gold which he wore about his 
neck ; both of which were allotted to Brimblecombe as his fair 
prize; but he, accepting the sword, steadfastly refused the* 
chain, entreating Amyas to put it into the common stock ; and 
when Amyas refused, he cut it into links and distributed it 
among those of the boat’s crew who had succored him, winning 
thereby much good will. ‘And indeed’ (says the chronicler), 

‘ I never saw in that worthy man, from the first day of our 
schoolfellowship till he was laid in his parish church of Hart- 
land (where he now sleeps in peace), any touch of that sin of 
covetousness which has in all ages, and in ours no less than 
others, beset especially (I know not why) them who minister 
about the sanctuary. But this man, though he was ugly and 
lowly in person, and in understanding simple, and of breeding 
but a poor parson’s son, had yet in him a spirit so loving and 
cheerful, so lifted from base and selfish purposes to the worship 
of duty, and to a generosity rather knightly than sacerdotal, that 
all through his life he seemed to think only that it was more 
blessed to give than to receive. And all that wealth which he 
gained in the wars, he dispersed among his sisters and the poor 
of his parish, living unmarried’ till his death like a true lover 
and constant mourner (as shall be said in place), and leaving 
hardly wherewith to bring his body to the grave. At whom, if 
we often laughed once, we should now rather envy him, desiring 
to be here what he was, that we may be hereafter where he is. 
Amen.’ 


2S* 


330 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 

‘ Great was the crying, the running and riding, 

. Which at that season was made in the place ; 

The beacons were fired, as need then required. 

To save their great treasure they had little space.’ 

Winning of Cales, 

The men would gladly have hawked awhile round Margarita 
and Cubagua for another pearl prize. But Amyas, having 
as he phrased it ‘ fleshed his dag,’ was loth to hang about the 
islands after the alarm had been given. They ran, therefore, 
south-west, across the mouth of that great bay which stretches 
from the Peninsula of Paria to Cape Codera, leaving on their 
right hand Tortuga, and on their left the meadow-islands of the 
Piritoos, two long green lines but a few inches above the tide- 
less sea. Yeo and Drew knew every foot of the way, and had 
good reason to know it ; for they, the first of all English 
mariners, had tried to trade along this coast with Hawkins. 
And now, right ahead, sheer out of the sea from base to 
peak, arose higher and higher the mighty range of the Carac- 
cas mountains ; beside which all hills which most of the crew 
had ever seen seemed petty mounds. Frank, of course, knew 
the Alps, and Amyas the Andes ; but Cary’s notions of height 
were bounded by M’Gillicuddy’s Reeks, and Brirnblecombe’s 
by Exmoor ; and the latter, to Cary’s infinite amusement, spent 
a whole day holding on by the rigging, and staring upwards 
with his chin higher than his nose, till he got a stiff neck. Soon 
the sea became rough and chopping, though the breeze was fair 
and gentle ; and ere they were abreast of the Cape, they 
became aware of that strong eastward current, which, during 
the winter months, so often baffles the mariner who wishes to 
go to the westward. All night long they struggled through the 
billows, with the huge wall of Cape Codera a thousand feet 
above their heads to the left, and beyond it again, bank upon 
bank of mountain, bathed in the yellow moonlight. 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


331 


Morning showed them a large ship, which had passed them 
during the night upon the opposite course, and was now a good 
ten miles to the eastward. Yeo was for going back and taking 
her. Of the latter he made a matter of course ; and the 
former was easy enough, for the breeze blowing dead off the 
land, was a ‘ soldier’s wind, there and back again,’ for either 
ship ; but Amyas and Frank were both unwilling. 

‘ Why, Yeo, you said that one day more would bring us to 
La Guayra.’ 

‘ All the more reason. Sir, for doing the Lord’s work 
thoroughly, when He has brought us safely so far on our 
journey.’* 

‘ She can pass well enough, and no loss.’ 

‘ Ah, sirs, sirs, she is delivered into your hands, and you will 
have to give an account of her.’ 

‘ My good Yeo,’ said Frank, ‘ I trust we shall give good 
account enough of many a tall Spaniard before we return ; 
but you know surely that La Guayra and the salvation of 
one whom we believe dwells there, was our first object in this 
adventure.’ 

Yeo shook his head sadly, ‘ Ah, sirs, a lady brought Cap- 
tain Oxenham to ruin.’ 

‘ You do not dare to compare her with this one ? ’ said Frank 
and Cary, both in a breath. 

‘ God forbid, gentlemen ; but no adventure will prosper, 
unless there is a single eye to the Lord’s work ; and that is, as 
I take it, to cripple the Spaniard, and exalt her Majesty the 
Queen. And I had thought that nothing was more dear than 
that to Captain Leigh’s heart.’ 

Amyas stood somewhat irresolute. His duty to the Queen 
bade him follow the Spanish vessel ; his duty to his vow, to go 
on to La Guayra. It would seem a far-fetched dilemma. He 
found it a practical one enough. 

However, the counsel of Frank prevailed, and on to La 
Guayra he went. He half hoped that the Spaniard would see 
and attack them. However, he went on his way to the east- 
ward ; which, if he had not done, my story had had a very differ- 
ent ending. 

About mid-day a canoe, the first which they had seen, came 
staggering toward them under a huge three-cornered sail. As 
it came near, they could see two Indians on board. 

‘ Metal floats in these seas, you see,’ quoth Cary. ‘ There’s 
a fresh marvel for you, Frank.’ 

‘ Expound,’ quoth Frank, who was really ready to swallow 
any fresh marvel, so many had he seen already. 


332 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


‘ Why, how else would those two bronze statues dare to go to 
sea in such a cockleshell, eh ? Have 1 given you the dor now, 
master courtier ?’ 

‘ 1 arn long past dors. Will. But what noble creatures they 
are ; and how fearlessly they are coming alongside ! Can they 
know that we are English, and the avengers of the Indians*.^ ’ 

‘ I suspect they just take us for Spaniards, and want to sell 
their cocoa-nuts. See, the canoe is laden with vegetables.’ 

‘ Hail them, Yeo ! ’ said Arnyas. ‘ You talk the best Spanish, 
and 1 want speech with one of them.’ 

Yeo did so ; the canoe, without more ado, ran alongside, and 
lowered her felucca sail, while a splendid Indian scrambled on 
board like a cat. 

He was full six feet high, and as .bold and graceful of bear- 
ing as Frank or Amyas’s self. He looked round for the first 
moment smilingly, showing his white teeth ; but the next, his 
countenance changed ; and springing to the side, he shouted to 
his comrade in Spanish, — 

‘Treachery! No Spaniard!’ and would have leaped over- 
board, but a dozen strong fellews caught him ere he could do 
so. 

It required some trouble to master him, so strong was he, and 
so slippery his naked limbs ; Amyas, meanwhile, alternately 
entreated the men not to hurt the Indian, and the Indian to be 
quiet, and no harm should happen to him ; and so, after five 
minutes’ confusion, the stranger gave in sulkily. 

‘ Don’t bind him ! Let him loose, and make a ring round 
him. Now, my man, there is a dollar for you.’ 

The Indian’s eyes glistened, and he took the coin. 

‘ All I want of you is, first, to tell me what ships are in La 
Guayra, and next, to go thither on board of me, and show me 
which is the governor’s house, and which the custom-house.’ 

The Indian laid the coin down on the deck, and crossing 
himself, looked Amyas in the face. 

‘No, Sefior! I am a freeman and a cavalier, a Christian 
Guayqueria, Whose forefathers, first of all the Indians, swore 
fealty to the King of Spain, and whom he calls to this day, 
in all his proclamations, his most faithful, loyal, and noble 
Guayquerias. God forbid, therefore, that I should tell aught to 
his enemies, who are my enemies likewise.’ 

A growl arose from those of the men who understood him ; 
and more than one hinted that a cord twined round the head, 
or match put between the fingers, would speedily extract the 
required information. 

‘ God forbid ! ’ said Amyas ; ‘ a brave and loyal man he is. 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYEA. 


333 


and as such I will treat him. Tell me, my brave fellow, how 
do you know us to be his Catholic Majesty^s enemies ? ’ 

The Indian, with a shrewd smile, pointed to half-a-dozen 
different objects, saying to each, ‘ Not Spanish.’ 

‘ Well, and what of that .? ’ 

‘ None but Spaniards and free Guayquerias have a right to sail 
these seas.’ 

Amyas laughed. 

‘ Thou art a right valiant bit of copper. Pick up thy dollar, 
and go thy way in peace. Make room for him, men. We can 
learn what we want without his help.’ 

The Indian paused, incredulous and astonished. 

‘ Overboard with you ! ’ quoth Amyas. ‘ Don’t you know 
when you are well off.?* ’ 

‘ Most illustrious Sehor,’ began the Indian, in the drawling 
sententious fashion of his race (when they take the trouble to 
talk at all), I have been deceived. I heard that you heretics 
roasted and ate all true Catholics (as we Guayquerias are), and 
that all your padres had tails.’ 

‘ Plague on you, sirrah ! ’ squeaked Jack Brimblecombe. 

‘ Have I a tail ! Look here ! ’ 

‘ Quien sale 7 Who knows } ’ quoth the Indian through his 
nose. 

‘ How do you know we are heretics } ’ said Amyas. 

‘ Humph ! But in repayment for your kindness, I would 
warn you, illustrious Senor, not to go on to La Guayra. There 
arfe ships of war there waiting for you ; and, moreover, the 
governor, Don Guzman, sailed to the eastward only yesterday 
to look for you ; and I wonder much how you did not meet him.’ 

‘ To look for us I On the watch for us ! ’ said Cary. Im- 
possible ; lies ! Amyas, this is some trick of the rascal’s to 
frighten us away.’ 

‘ Don Guzman came out but yesterday to look for us } Are 
you sure you spoke truth ’ 

‘ As I live, Senor; he and another ship, for which I took yours.’ 

Amyas stamped upon the deck : that, then, was the ship which 
they had passed ! 

‘ Fool that I was to have been close to my enemy, and let 
my opportunity slip ! If I had but done my duty, all would 
have gone right ! ’ 

But it was too late to repine ; and, after all, the Indian’s story 
was likely enough to be false. 

‘ Off with you ! ’ said he ; and the Indian bounded over the 
side into his canoe, leaving the whole crew wondering at the 
stateliness and courtesy of this bold sea-cavalier. 


334 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


So Westvvard-ho they ran, beneath the mighty northern wall, 
the highest cliff on earth, some seven thousand feet of rock 
parted from the sea by a narrow strip of bright green lowland*. 
Here and there a patch of sugar-cane, or a knot of cocoa-nut 
trees, close to the water’s edge, reminded them that they were 
in the tropics ; but above, all was savage, rough, and bare as an 
Alpine precipice. Sometimes deep clefts allowed the southern 
sun to pour a blaze of light down to the sea- marge, and gave 
glimpses far above of strange and stately trees lining th*e glens, 
and of a veil of perpetual mist which shrouded the inner sum- 
mits ; while up and down, between them and the mountain side, 
white, fleecy clouds hung motionless in the burning air, increas- 
ing the impression of vastness and of solemn rest, which was 
already overpowering. 

‘ Within those mountains, three thousand feet above our 
heads,’ said Drew, the master, ‘ lies St. Yago de Leon, the 
great city which the Spaniards founded fifteen years agone.’ 

‘ Is it a rich place ? ’ asked Cary. 

‘ Very, they say.’ 

‘ Is it a strong place > ’ asked Amyas. 

‘ No forts to it at .all, they say. The Spaniards boast, that 
Heaven has made such good walls to it already, that man need 
make' none.’ 

‘ I don’t know,’ quoth Amyas. ‘ Lads, could you climb those 
hills, do you think ’ 

‘ Rather higher than Harty Point, Sir: but it depends pretty 
much on what’s behind them.’ 

And now the last point is rounded, and they are full in sight 
of the spot in quest of which they have sailed four thousand 
miles of sea. A low black cliff, crowned by a wall ; a battery 
at either end. Within a few narrow streets of white houses, 
running parallel with the sea, upon a strip of flat, which seemed 
not two hundred yards in breadth ; and behind, the mountain 
wall, covering the whole in deepest shade. How that wall was 
ever ascended to the inland, seemed the puzzle ; but Drew, 
who had been off the place before, pointed out to them a nar- 
row path, which wound upwards through a glen, seemingly 
sheer perpendicular. That was the road to the capital, if a°ny 
man dare try it. In spite of the shadow of the mountain, the 
whole place wore a dusty and glaring look. The breaths of 
air which came off the land were utterly stifling; and no won- 
der, for La Guayra, owing to the radiation of that vast fire- 
brick of heated rock, is one of the hottest spots upon the fiice of 
the whole earth. 

Where was the harbor ? There was none. Only an open 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


335 


roadstead, wherein, lay tossing at anchor five vessels. The 
two outer ones were small merchant caravels. Behind them 
lay two long, low, ugly-looking craft, at sight of which Yeo 
gave a long wheugh. 

‘ Galleys, as I’m a sinful saint ! And what’s that big one 
inside of them, Robert Drew ? She has more than hawse-holes 
in her idolatrous black sides, I think.’ 

‘ We shall open her astern of the galleys in another minute,’ 
said Amyas. ‘ Look out, Cary, your eyes are better than 
mine.’ 

‘ Six round portholes on the main-deck,’ quoth Will. 

‘ And I can see the brass patararoes glittering on her poop,’ 
quoth Amyas. ‘ Will, we’re in for it.’ 

‘ In for it we are, Captain. 

* Farewell, farewell, my parents dear, 

I never shall see you more, I fear.’ 

Let’s go in, nevertheless, and pound the Don’s ribs, my old lad 
of Smerwick. Eh ? Three to one is very fair odds.’ 

‘ Not underneath those fort guns, I beg leave to say,’ quoth 
Yeo. ‘ If the Philistines will but come out unto us, we will 
make them like unto Zeba and Zalmunna.’ 

‘ Quite true,’ said Amyas. ‘ Game cocks are game cocks, 
but reason’s reason.’- 

‘ If the Philistines are not coming out, they are going to 
send a messenger instead,’ quoth Cary. ‘ Look out, all thin 
skulls ! ’ 

And, as he spoke, a puff of white smoke rolled from the 
eastern fort, and a heavy ball plunged into the water between 
it and the ship. 

‘ I don’t altogether like this,’ quoth Amyas. ‘ What do they 
mean by firing on us without warning.? And what are these 
ships of war doing here .? Drew, you told me the armadas 
never lay here.’ 

‘ No more, I believe, they do. Sir, on account of the anchor- 
age being so bad, as you may see. I’m mortal afeard that 
rascal’s story was true, and that the Dons have got wind of our 
coming.’ 

‘ Run up a white flag, at all events. If they do expect us, 
they must have known some time since, or how could they have 
got their craft hither ? ’ 

‘ True, Sir. They must have come from Santa Martha, at 
the least ; perhaps from Carthagena. And that would take a 
month at least, going and corning.’ 


/ 


336 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


Amyas suddenly recollected Eustace’s threat in the wayside * 
inn. Could he have betrayed their purpose ? Impossible ! 

‘ Let us hold a council of war, at all events, Frank.’ 

Frank was absorbed in a very different matter. A half- 
mile to the eastward of the town, two or three hundred feet up 
the steep mountain side, stood a large, low, white house, em- 
bosomed in trees and gardens. There was no other house of 
similar size near ; no place for one. And was not that the 
royal flag of Spain which flaunted before it ? That must be 
the governor’s house ; that must be the abode of the Rose of 
Torridge ! And Frank stood devouring it with wild eyes, till 
he had persuaded himself that he could see a woman’s figure 
walking upon the terrace in front, and that the figure was none 
other than her’s whom he sought. Amyas could hardly tear 
him away to a council of war, which was a sad, and only not 
a peevish one. 

The three adventurers, with Brimblecombe, Yeo‘, and Drew, 
went apart upon the poop ; and each looked the other in the 
face awhile. For what was to be done ? The plans and hopes 
of months were brought to nought in an hour. 

‘ It is impossible, you see,’ said Amyas, at last, ‘ to surprise 
the town by land, while these ships are here ; for if we land 
our men, we leave our ship without defence.’ 

‘ As impossible as to challenge Don Guzman while he is not 
here,’ said Cary. 

‘ I wonder why the ships have not opened on us already,’ 
said Drew. 

‘ Perhaps they respect our flag of truce,’ said Cary. ‘ Why 
not send in a boat to treat with them, and to inquire for ’ 

‘For her?’ interrupted Frank. ‘If we show that we are 
aware of her existence, her name is blasted in the eyes of those 
jealous Spaniards.’ 

‘ And as for respecting our flag of truce, gentlemen,’ said 
Yeo, ‘ if you will take an old man’s advice, trust them not. 
They will keep the same faith with us as they kept with Cap- 
tain Hawkins at San Juan d’Ulloa, in that accursed business 
which was the beginning of all the wars; when we might have 
taken the whole Plate-fleet, with two hundred thousand pounds’ 
worth of gold on board, and did not, but only asked license to 
trade like honest men. And yet, after they had granted us 
license, and deceived us by fair speech into landing ourselves 
and our ordnance, the governor and all the fleet set upon us, 
five to one, and gave no quarter to any soul whom he took. 
No, Sir ; 1 expect the only reason why they don’t attack us is, 
because tlicir crews are not on board.’ 


WHAT BEFELL AT GUAYRA. 


337 


‘ They will be, soon enough, then,’ said Amy as. ‘ I can see 
soldiers coming down the landing-stairs.’ 

And, in fact, boats full of armed men began to push off to 
the ships. 

‘ We may thank Heaven,’ said Drew, ‘ that we were not here 
two hours agone. The sun will be down before they are ready 
for sea, and the fellows will have no stomach to go looking for 
us by night.’ 

‘ So much the worse for us. If they will but do that, we 
may give them the slip, and back again to the town, and there 
try our luck ; for I cannot find it in my heart to leave the place 
without having one dash at it.’ 

Yeo shook his head. ‘ There are plenty more towns along 
the coast more worth trying than this, Sir : but Heaven’s will 
be done ! ’ 

And, as they spoke, the sun plunged into the sea, and all was 
dark. 

At last it was agreed to anchor, and wait till midnight. If 
the ships of war came out, they were to try to run in past them, 
and, desperate as the attempt might be, attempt their original 
plan of landing to the westward of the town, taking it in flank, 
plundering the government storehouses, which they saw close 
to the landing-place, and then fighting their way back to their 
boats, and out of the roadstead. Two hours would suffice, if 
the armada and the galleys were but once out of the way. 

Amyas went forward, called the men together, and told them 
the plan. It was not very cheerfully received : but what else 
was there to be done ? 

They ran down about a mile and a half to the westward, and 
anchored. 

The night wore on, and there was no sign of stir among the 
shipping ; for though they could not see the vessels themselves, 
yet their lights (easily distinguished by their relative height 
from those in the. town above) remained motionless; and the 
men fretted and fumed for weary hours, at thus seeing a rich 
prize (ibr of course the town was paved with gold) within arm’s 
reach, and yet impossible. 

Let Amyas and his men have patience. Some short five 
years more, and the Great Armada will have come and gone; 
and then that avenging storm, of which they, like Oxenham, 
Hawkins, and Drake, are but the avant-couriers, will burst 
upon every Spanish port from Corunna to Cadiz, from the 
C inaries to Havana, and La Guayra and St. Jago de Leon 
will not escape their share. Captain Amyas Preston and Cap- 
tain Sommers will land, with a force tiny enough, though larger 
29 


338 


■what befell at la guayra. 


far than Leigh’s, where Leigh dare not land ; and taking the 
fort of Guayra, will find, as Leigh found, that their coming has 
been expected, and that the pass of the Venla, three thousand 
feet above, has been fortified with huge barricadoes, abatis, 
and cannon, making the capital, amid its ring of mountain-walls, 
impregnable — to all but Englishmen or Zouaves. For up that 
seven thousand feet of precipice, which rises stair on stair 
behind the town, those fierce adventurers will climb hand over 
hand, through rain and fog, while men lie down, and beg their 
officers to kill them, for no further can they go. Yet further 
they will go, hewing a path with their swords through woods of 
wild plantain, and rhododendron thickets, over (so it seems, 
however incredible) the very saddle of the Silla,^ down upon 
the astonished ‘ Mantuanos ’ of St. Jago, driving all before 
_them ; and having burnt the city in default of ransom, will 
return triumphant by the right road and pass along the coast, 
the masters of the deep. 

I know not whether any men still live who count their descent 
from those two valiant captains ; but if such there be, let them 
be sure that the history of the. English navy tells no more 
Titanic victory over nature and man than that now forgotten 
raid of Amyas Preston and his comrade, in the year of grace 
1595 . 

But though a venture on the town was impossible, yet there 
was another venture which Frank was unwilling to let slip. A 
light which now shone brightly in one of the ^yindows of the 
governor’s house, was the lodestar to which all his ihouglits 
were turned ; and as he sat in the cabin with Amyas, Cary, 
and Jack, he opened his heart to them. 

‘ And are we, then,’ asked he, mournfully, ‘ to go without 
doing the very thing for which we came ? ’ 

All were silent awhile. At last John Brimblecombe spoke. 

‘ Show me the way to do it, Mr. Frank, and I will go.’ 

‘My dearest man,’ said Amyas, ‘what would you have 
Any attempt to see her, even if she be here, would be all but 
certain death.’ 

‘ And what if it were ? What if it were, my brother Amyas ? 
Listen to me. I have long ceased to shrink from Death ; but 
till I came into these magic climes, I never knew the beauty of 
his face.’ 

‘ Of death .? ’ said Cary. ‘ I should have said, of life. God 


♦ Humboldt says that there is a path from Caravellada to St. Jago, be- 
tween the peaks, used by smugglers. This is probably the ‘ unknowen way 
of the Indians, ’‘which Preston used. 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GTJAYRA. 


339 


forgive me ! but man might wish to live for ever, if he had such 
a world as this wherein to live.’ 

‘ And do you forget, Cary, that the more fair this passing 
world of time, by so much the more fair is that eternal world, 
whereof all here is but a shadow and a dream ; by so much the' 
more fair is He before whose throne the four mystic beasts, the 
substantial ideas of Nature and her powers, stand day and 
night, crying, “ Holy, holy, holy. Lord God of hosts. Thou 
hast made all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were 
created ! ” My friends, if He be so prodigal of His own glory 
as to have decked these lonely shores, all but unknown since 
the foundation of the world, with splendors beyond all our 
dreams, what must be the glory of His face itself! I have 
done w’iih vain shadows. It is better to depart and to be with 
Him, where shall be neither desire nor anger, self-deception 
nor pretence, but the eternal fulness of reality and truth. 
One thing I have to do before I die, for God has laid it on me. 
Let that be done to-night, and then, farewell ! ’ 

‘ Frank ! Frank 1 remember our mother ! ’ 

‘ I do remember her. I have talked over these things with 
her many a time ; and where I would fain be, she would fain 
be also. She sent me out with my virgin honor, as the Spar- 
tan mother did her boy with the shield, saying, “ Come back 
either with this or upon this ; ” and one or the other I must do, 
if I would meet her either in this life or in the next. But in the 
meanwhile do not mistake me ; my life is God’s, ’and I promise 
not to cast it away rashly.’ 

‘ What would you do, then ? ’ 

‘ Go up to that house, Amyas, and speak with her, if Heaven 
gives me. an opportunity, as Heaven, 1 feel assured, will give.’ 

‘ And do you call that no rashness ? ’ 

‘ Is any duty rashness Is it rash to stand amid the flying 
bullets, if your Queen has sent you ? Is it more rash to go 
to seek Christ’s lost lamb, if God and your own oath have sent 
you 1 John Brimblecornbe answered that question for us long 
ago.’ 

‘ If you go, I go with you ! ’ said all three at once. 

‘ No. Amyas, you owe a duty to our mother and to your 
ship. Cary, you are heir to great estates ; and are bound 
thereby to your country and to your tenants. John Brimble- 
combe — ’ 

‘ Ay ! ’ squeaked Jack. ‘ And what .have you to say, Mr. 
Frank, against my going.? I, who have neither ship nor 
estates — except, I suppose, that I am not worthy to travel in 
such good company.’ 


340 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GTJAYRA. 


‘Think of your old parents, John, and all your sisters.’ 

‘ 1 thought of them before I started. Sir, as Mr. Cary knows, 
and you know too. I came here to keep my vow, and 1 am not 
going to turn renegade at the very foot of the cross.’ 

‘Some one must go with you, Frank,’ said Amyas ; ‘if it 
were only to bring back the boat’s crew in case — ’ and he 
faltered. 

‘‘In case I fall,’ replied Frank with a smile, ‘I will finish 
your sentence for you, lad ; I -am not afraid of it, though you 
may be for me. Yet some one, I fear, must go. Unhappy 
me ! that I cannot risk my own worthless life without risking 
your more precious lives ! ’ 

‘ Not so, Mr. Frank ! Your oath is our oath, and your duty 
ours ! ’ said John. ‘ I will tell you what we will do, gentlemen 
all. We three will draw lots for the honor of going with 
him.’ 

‘ Lots ? ’ said Amyas. ‘ I don’t like leaving such grave mat- 
ters to chance, friend John.’ 

‘ Chance, Sir ? W'hen you have used all your own wit, and 
find it fail you, then what is drawing lots but taking the matter 
out of your own weak hands, and laying it in God’s strong 
hands ? ’ 

‘Right, John!’ said Frank. ‘So did the apostles choose 
their successor, and so did holy men of old decide contro- 
versies too subtle for them ; and we will not be ashamed to 
follow their example. For my part, I have often said to 
Sidney and to Spenser, when we have babbled together of 
Utopian governments in days which are now dreams to me, 
that I would have all officers of state chosen by lot out of the 
wisest and most fit ; so making sure that they should be called 
by God, and not by man alone. Gentlemen, do you agree to 
Sir John’s advice ’ 

They agreed, seeing no better counsel, and John put three 
slips of paper into Frank’s hand, with the simple old apostolic 
prayer — ‘ Show which of us three Thou hast chosen.’ 

The lot fell upon Amyas Leigh. 

Frank shuddered, and clasped his hands over his face. 

‘ Well,’ said Cary, ‘ I have ill-luck to-night : but Frank goes 
at least in good company.’ 

‘ Ah, that it had been I ! ’ said Jack ; ‘ though I suppose I 
was too poor a body to have such an honor fall on me. And 
‘yet it is hard for flesh and blood ; hard indeed to have come, 
all this way, and not to see her after all 1 ’ 

‘Jack,’ said Frank, you are kept to do better work than 
this, doubt not. But if the lot had fallen on you — ay, if it 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


341 


had fallen on a three years’ child, I would have gone up as 
cheerfully with that child to lead me, as I do now with this my 
brother. Amyas, can we have a boat and a crew ? It is near 
midnight already,’ 

Amyas went on deck, and asked for six volunteers. Who- 
soever would come, Amyas would double out of his own 
purse any prize-money which might fall to that man’s share. 

One of the old Pelican’s crew, Simon Evans of Clovelly, 
stepped out at once. 

‘ Why six only. Captain ? Give the word, and any and all 
of us will go up with you, sack the house, and bring off the 
treasure and the lady, before two hours are out.’ 

‘ No, no, my brave lads ! As for treasure, if there be any, 
it is sure to have been put all safe into the forts, or hidden in 
the mountains ; and as for the lady, God forbid that we should 
force her a step without her own will:’ 

The honest sailor did not quite understand this punctilio : 
but, — 

‘ Well, Captain,’ quoth he, ‘ as you like ; but no man shall 
say that you asked for a volunteer, were it to jump down 
a shark’s throat, but what you had me first of all the crew.’ 

After this sort of temper had been exhibited, three or four 
more came forward — Yeo was very anxious to go, but Amyas 
forbade him. 

‘I’ll volunteer. Sir, without reward, for this or anything; 
though (added he in a lower tone) I would to Heaven that the 
thought had never entered your head.’ 

‘ And so would I have volunteered,’ said Simon Evans, ‘ if it 
were the ship’s quarrel, or the Queen’s ; but being it’s a 
private matter of the Captain’s, and I’ve a wife and children at 
home, why, I take no shame to myself for asking money for 
my life.’ 

So the crew was made up ; but ere they pushed off, Amyas 
called Cary aside — 

‘If I perish. Will — ’ 

‘ Don’t talk of such things, dear old lad.’ 

‘ I must. Then you are captain. Do nothing without Yeo 
and Drew. But if they approve, go right north away for San 
Domingo and Cuba, and try the ports ; they can have no news 
of us there, and there is booty without end. Tell my mother 
that I died like a gentleman ; and mind — mind, dear lad, to 
keep your temper with the men, let the poor fellows grumble 
as they may. Mind but that, and fear God, and all will go 
well.’ 

The tears were glistening in Cary’s eyes as he pressed 
29 # 


342 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYR-A. 


Amyas’s hand, and watched the two brothers down over the 
side upon their desperate errand. 

They reached the pebble beach. There seemed no diffi- 
culty about finding the path to the house — so bright was the 
moon, and so careful a survey of the place had Frank taken. 
Leaving the men with the boat (Amyas had taken care that 
they should be well armed), they started up the beach, with 
their swords only. Frank assured Amyas that they would find 
a path leading from the beach up to the house, and he was not 
mistaken. They found it easily, for it was made of white 
shell sand ; and, following it, struck into a ‘ tunal,’ or belt of 
tall thorny cactuses. Through this the path wound in zigzags 
up a steep rocky slope, and ended at a wicket-gate. They 
tried it, and found it open. 

‘ She may expect us,’ whispered Frank. 

‘ Impossible ! ’ 

‘ Why not } She must have seen our ship ; and if, as 
seems, the towns-folk know who we are, how much more must 
she .? Yes, doubt it not, she still longs to hear news of her 
own land, and some secret sympathy will draw her down 
towards the sea to-night. See ! the light is in the window 
still ! ’ 

‘ But if not,’ said Amyas, who had no such expectation ; 
‘ what is your plan .? ’ 

‘ I have none.’ 

‘ None .? ’ 

‘ I have imagined twenty different ones in the last hour ; but 
all are equally uncertain, impossible. I have ceased to strug- 
gle — I go where I am called, love’s willing victim. If 
Heaven accepts the sacrifice, it will provide the altar and the 
knife.’ 

Amyas was at his wits’ end. Judging of his brother by 
himself, he had taken for granted that Frank had some well- 
concocted scheme for gaining admittance to the Rose ; and as 
the wiles of love were altogether out of his province, he had 
followed in full faith such a sans-appel as he held Frank to be. 
But now he almost doubted of his brother’s sanity, though 
Frank’s manner was perfectly collected, and his voice firm, 
Amyas, honest fellow, had no understanding of that intense 
devotion, which so many in those days (not content with 
looking on it as a lofty virtue, and yet one to be duly kept in 
its place by other duties) prided themselves on pampering into 
the most fantastic and self-willed excesses. 

Beautiful folly ! the death song of which two great geniuses 
were composing at that very moment, each according to his 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYSA. 


343 


light For, while Spenser was embalming in immortal verse 
all that it contained of noble and Christian elements, Cervantes 
sat, perhaps, in his dungeon, writing with "his left hand Don 
Quixote, — saddest of books, in spite of all its wit ; the story 
of a pure and noble soul, who mistakes this actual life for that 
ideal one which he fancies (and not so wrongly either) eternal 
in the heavens ; and finding, instead of a battle-field for heroes 
in God’s cause, nothing but frivolity, heartlessness, and god- 
lessness, becomes a laughing-stock, — and dies. One of the 
saddest books, I say again, which man can read. 

Amyas hardly dare trust himself to speak, for fear of saying 
too much ; but he could not help saying, — 

‘ You are going to certain death, Frank.’ 

‘ Did I not entreat,’ answered he very quietly, ‘ to go 
alone ? ’ 

Amyas had half a mind to compel him to return : but he 
feared Frank’s obstinacy; and feared, too, the shame of re- 
turning on board without having done anything; so they went 
up through the wicket-gate, along a smooth tuff walk, into 
what seemed a pleasure-garden, formed by the hand of man, 
or rather of woman. For by the light, not only of the moon, 
but of the innumerable fire-flies which flitted to and fro across 
the sward like fiery imps sent to light the brothers on their 
way, they could see that the bushes on either side, and the 
trees above their heads, were decked with flowers of such 
strangeness and beauty, that, as Frank once said of Barbados, 
‘ even the gardens of Wilton were a desert in comparison.’ 
AH around were orange and lemon-trees (probably the only 
addition which man had made to Nature’s prodigality), the 
fruit of which, in that strange colored light of the fire-flies, 
flashed in their eyes like balls of burnished gold and emerald ; 
while great white tassels, swinging from every tree in the 
breeze which swept down the glade, tossed in their faces 
a fragrant snow of blossoms, and glittering drops of perfumed 
dew. 

‘ What a paradise,’ said Amyas to Frank, ‘ with the serpent 
in it, ‘as of old. Look ! ’ 

And as he spoke, there dropped slowly down from a bough 
right before them, what seemed a living chain of gold, ruby, 
and sapphire. Both stopped, and another glance showed the 
small head and bright eyes of a snake, hissing and glaring full 
in their faces. 

‘ See ! ’ said Frank. ‘ And he comes, as of old, in the like- 
ness of an angel of light. Do not strike it. There are worse 
devils to be fought with to-night than that poor beast.’ And 


344 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


stepping aside, they passed the snake safely, and arrived in 
front of the house. 

It was, as I have said, a long, low house, with balconies 
along the upper' story, and the under part mostly open to the 
wind. The light was still burning in the window. 

‘ Whither now ? ’ said Alnyas, in a tone of desperate resigna- 
tion. 

‘ Thither ! Where else on earth ’ and Frank pointed to the 
light, trembling from head to foot, and pushed on. 

‘ For Heaven’s sake ! Look at the negroes on the bar- 
bccu ! ’ 

It was indeed time to stop : for on the barbecu, or terrace of 
white plaster, which ran all round the front, lay sleeping full 
twenty black figures. 

‘ What will you do now ? You must step over them to gain 
an entrance.’ 

‘ Wait here, and I will go up gently towards the window. 
She may see^ me. She will see me as 1 step into the moon- 
light. At least I know an air by which she will recognize me, 
if 1 do but a hum a stave.’ 

‘ Why, you do not even know that that light is hers! — 
Down, for your life ! ’ 

And Amyas dragged him down into the bushes on his left 
hand ; for one of the negroes, wakening suddenly with a cry, 
had sat up, and began crossing himself four or five times, in 
fear of ‘ Duppy,’ and mumbling various charms, aves, or what 
not. 

The light above was extinguished instantly. 

‘ Did you see her ? ’ whispered Frank. 

‘No.’ 

‘I did — the shadow of the face, and the neck ! Can I be 
mistaken ? ’ And then,. covering his face with his hands, he 
murmured to himself, ‘ Misery ! misery ! So near, and yet 
impossible ! ’ 

‘ Would it be the less impossible, were you face to face? 
Let us go back. We cannot go up without detection, even if 
our going were of use. Come back, for God’s sake, ere all is 
lost ! If you have seen her, as you say, you know at least 
that she is alive, and safe in his house — ’ 

‘ As his mistress ? or as his wife ? Do I know that yet, 
Amyas, and can I depart until I know ? ’ 

There were a few minutes^ silence, and then Amyas, making 
one last attempt to awaken Frank to the absurdity of the whole 
thing, and to laugh him, if possible, out of it, as argument had 
no effect — ' ' ' 


WIIAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


345 


‘ My dear fellow, T am very hungry and sleepy ; and this 
bush is very prickly ; and my boots are full of ants, — ’ 

‘ So are mine. Look ! ’ and Frank caught Amyas’s arm, 
and clenched it tight. 

For round the further corner of the house a dark cloaked 
figure stole gently, turning- a look. now and then upon the 
sleeping negroes, and came on right toward them. 

‘ Did I not tell you she would come ? ’ whispered Frank, in 
a triumphant tone. 

Amyas was quite bewildered ; and to his mind the appari- 
tion seemed magical, and Frank prophetic ; for as the figure 
came nearer, incredulous as he tried to be, there was no deny- 
ing that the shape and the walk were exactly those of her, to 
find whom they had crossed the Atlantic. True, the figure 
was somewhat taller : but then ‘ she must be grown since I saw 
her,’ thought Amyas ; and his heart for the moment beat as 
fiercely as Frank’s. 

But what was that behind her ? Her shadow against the 
white wall of the house ? Not so. Another figure, cloaked 
likewise, but taller far, was following on her steps. It was a 
man’s. They could see that he wore a broad sombrero. It 
could not be Don Guzman, for he was at sea. Who then .? 
Here was a mystery ; perhaps a tragedy. And both brothers 
held their breaths, while Amyas felt whether his sword was 
loose in the sheath. 

The Rose (if indeed it was she) was within ten yards of 
them, when she perceived that she was followed. She gave a 
little shriek. The cavalier sprang forward, lifted his hat cour- 
teously, and joined her, bowing low. The moonlight was full 
upon his face. 

‘ It is Eustace, our cousin ! How came he here, in the name 
of all the fiends ? ’ 

‘ Eustace ! Then that is she, after all ! ’ said Frank, forget- 
ting everything else in her.. 

And now flashed across Amyas all that had passed between 
him and Eustace in the moorland inn, and Parracombe’s story, 
too, of the suspicious gipsy. Eustace had been beforehand 
with them, and warned Don Guzman ! All was explained now : 
but how had he got hither .? 

‘ The devil, his master, sent him hither on a broomstick, I 
suppose : or what matter how .? Here he is ; and here we are, 
worse luck ! ’ And setting his teeth, Amyas awaited the end. 

The two came on, talking earnestly, and walking at a slow 
pace, so that the brothers could hear every word. 


336 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


‘ What shall we do now? said Frank. ‘ We have no right 
to be eaves-droppers.’ 

‘ But we must be, right or none.’ And Amyas held him 
down firmly by the arm. 

‘ But whither are you going, then, my dear Madam ? ’ they 
heard Eustace say in a wheedling tone. ‘ Can you wonder 
if such strange conduct should cause at least sorrow to your 
admirable and faithful husband ? ’ 

‘ Husband ! ’ whispered Frank faintly to Amyas. ‘ Thank 
God ! thank God ! I am content. Let us go.’ 

But to go was impossible ; for, as fate would have it, the 
two had stopped just opposite them. 

‘The inestimable Senor Don Guzman — ’ began Eustace 
again. 

‘ What do you mean by praising him to me in this fulsome 
way. Sir ? Do you suppose that 1 do not know his virtues 
better than you ? ’ 

‘ If you do. Madam ’ (this was spoken in a harder tone), ‘ it 
were wise for you to try them less severely, than by wandering 
down toward the beach on the very night that you know his 
most deadly enemies are lying in wait to slay him, plunder his 
house, and most probably to carry you off from him.’ 

‘ Carry me off? I will die first ! ’ 

‘ Who can prove that to him ? Appearances are at least 
against you.’ 

‘ My love to him, and his trust in me. Sir !’ 

‘ His trust? Have you forgotten. Madam, what passed last 
week, and why he sailed yesterday ? ’ 

The only answer was a burst of tears. Eustace stood watch- 
ing her with a terrible eye ; but they could see his face writhing 
in the moonlight. 

‘ Oh ! ’ sobbed she at last. ‘And if I have been imprudent, 
was it not natural to wish to look once more upon an English 
ship ? ’ Are you not English, as well as I ? Flave you no 
longing recollections of the dear old land at home ? ’ 

Eustace was silent ; but his face worked more fiercely than 
ever. 

‘ How can he ever know it ? ’ 

‘ Why should he not know it ? ’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ she burst out passionately. ‘ Why not, indeed, while 
you are here ? You, Sir, the tempter, you the eaves-dropper, 
you the sunderer of loving hearts ! You, serpent, who found 
our home a paradise, and see it now a hell ! ’ 

‘ Do you dare to accuse me thus. Madam, without a shadow 
of evidence ? ’ 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


347 


‘ Dare ? I dare anything, for I know all ! I have watched 
you, Sir, and 1 have borne with you too long.’ 

* Me, Madam, whose only sin towards you, as you should 
know by now, is to have loved you too well ? Rose ! Rose ! 
liave you not blighted my life for me — broken my heart ? And 
how have I repaid you ? How but by sacrificing myself to 
seek you over land and sea, that I might complete your con- 
version to the bosom of that Church where a Virgin Mother 
stands stretching forth soft arms to embrace her wandering 
daughter, and cries to you all day long, “Come unto me, ye 
that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest ! ” 
And this is my reward ! ’ 

‘ Depart with your Virgin Mother, Sir, and tempt me no 
more ! You have asked me what 1 dare ; and 1 dare thTs, upon 
my own ground, and in my own garden, I, Donna Rosa de Soto, 
to hid you leave this place now and for ever, after having in- 
sulted me by talking of your love, and tempted me to give up 
that faith which my husband promised me he would respect and 
protect. Go, Sir ! ’ 

The brothers listened breathless with surprise as much as 
with rage. Love and conscience, and perhaps, too, the pride 
of hdV lofty alliance, had converted the once gentle and dreamy 
Rose into a ve.ry Roxana ; but it was only the impulse of a 
moment. The words had hardly passed her lips, when, terrified 
at what she had said, she burst into a fresh flood of tears ; while 
Eustace answered calmly, — 

‘ I go. Madam : but how know you that T may not have or- 
ders, and that, after your last strange speech, my conscience 
may compel me to obey those orders, to take you with me ? ’ 

‘ Me ? with you ? ’ 

‘ My heart has bled for you. Madam, for many a year. It 
longs now that it had bled itself to death, and never known the 
last worst agony of telling you — ’ 

And drawing close to her. He whispered in her ear — what, 
the brothers heard not — but her answ^er was a shriek which 
rang through the woods, and sent the night-birds fluttering up 
from every bough above their heads. 

‘.By Heaven ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ 1 can stand this no longer. Cut 
that devil’s throat I must — ’ 

‘ She is lost if his dead body is found by her.’ 

‘ We are lost if we stay here, then,’ said Amyas ; ‘ for those 
negroes will hurry down at her cry, and then found we must 
be.’ 

‘ Are you mad. Madam, to betray yourself by your own cries ? 
The negroes will be here in a moment. I give you one last 


348 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


chance for life, then ; ’ and Eustace shouted in Spanish at the 
top of his voice, ‘ Help, help, servants ! Your mistress is being 
carried off by bandits ! ’ 

‘ What do you mean. Sir ? ’ 

‘ Let your woman’s wit supply the rest : and forget not him 
who thus saves you from disgrace.’ 

Whether the brothers heard the, last words or not, I know 
not; but taking for granted that Eustace had discovered them, 
they sprang to their feet at once, determined to make one last 
appeal, and then to sell their lives as dearly as they could. 

Eustace started back at the unexpected apparition ; but a 
second glance showed him Amyas’s mighty bulk ; and he spoke 
calmly, — 

‘You see. Madam, I did not call without need. Welcome, 
good cousins. My charity, as you perceive, has found means- 
to outstrip your craft; while the fair lady, as was but natural, 
has been true to her assignation ! ’ 

‘ Liar ! ’ cried Frank. ‘ She never knew of our being — ’ 
Credal Judceus answered Eustace; but, as he spoke, 
Amyas burst through the bushes at him. There vvas no time 
to be lost; and ere the giant could disentangle himself from the 
boughs and shrubs, Eustace had slipped off his long ctoak, 
thrown it over Amyas’s head, and ran up the alley shouting for 
help. 

Mad with rage, Amyas gave chase : but in two minutes 
more, Eustace was safe amongst the ranks of the negroes, who 
came shouting and jabbering down the path. 

He rushed back. Frank was just ending some wild appeal 
to Rose — 

‘ Your conscience ! your religion ! — ’ 

‘ No, never ! I can face the chance of death, but not the 
loss of him. Go ! for God’s sake leave me ! ’ 

‘ You are lost, then, — and I have ruined you ! ’ 

‘ Come off, now or never,’ cried Amyas, clutching him by 
the arm, and dragging him away like a child. 

‘ You forgive me .? ’ cried he. 

‘ Forgive you } ’ and she burst into tears again. 

Frank burst into tears also. 

‘ Let me go back, and die with her — Amyas ! — my oath ! 
— my honor ! ’ and he struggled to turn back. 

Amyas looked back too, and saw her standing calmly, with 
her hands folded across her breast, awaiting Eustace and the 
servants ; and he half turned to go back also. Both saw how 
fearfully appearances had put her into Eustace’s power. Had 
he not a right to suspect that they were there by her appoint- 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


349 


merit ; that she was going to escape with them ? And would 
not Eustace use his power ? The thought of the Inquisition 
crossed their minds. ‘ Was that the threat which Eustace had 
whispered } ’ asked he of Frank. 

‘ It was,’ groaned Frank in answer. 

For the first and last time in his life, Amyas Leigh stood 
irresolute. 

‘ Back, and stab her to the heart first ! ’ said Frank, strug- 
gling to escape from him. 

Oh, if Amyas were but alone, and Frank safe home in Eng- 
land ! To charge the whole mob, kill her, kill Eustace, and 
then cut his way back again to the ship, or die, — what mat- 
ter,? as Jie must die some day, — sword in hand ! But Frank ! 

— and then flashed before his eyes his mother’s hopeless face ; 
then rang in his ears his mother’s las't bequest to him of that 
frail treasure. Let Rose, let honor, let the whole world perish, 
he must save Frank. See ! the negroes were up with her now 

— past her — away for life ! and once more he dragged his 
brother down the hill, and through the wicket, only just in time ; 
for the whole gang of negroes were within ten yards of them 
in full pursuit. 

‘ Frank,’ said he, sharply, ‘ if you ever hope to see your 
mother again, rouse yourself, man, and fight !’ And, without 
waiting for an answer, he turned, and charged up hill upon his 
pursuers, who saw the long bright blade, and fled instantly. 

Again he hurried Frank down the hill ; the path wound in 
zigzags, and he feared that the negroes would come straight 
over the cliff, and so cut off his retreat ; but the prickly cactuses 
w'ere too much for them, and they were forced to follow by the 
path, while the brothers (Frank having somewhat regained his 
senses), turned every now and then to menace them ;^but once 
on the rocky path, stones began to fly fast ; small ones fortu- 
nately, and wide and wild for want of light — but when they 
reached the pebble-beach ! Both were too proud to run ; but, 
if ever Amyas prayed in his life, he prayed for the last twenty 
yards before he reached the water-mark. 

‘ Now, Frank ! down to the boat as hard as you can run, 
while I keep the curs back.’ 

‘ Amyas ! What do you take me for ? My madness brought 
you hither ; your devotion shall not bring me back without 
you.’ 

‘ Together, then ! ’ 

And putting Frank’s arm through his, they hurried down 
shouting to their men. 

30 


350 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


The boat was not fifty yards off ; but fast travelling over 
the pebbles was impossible, and long ere half the distance 
was crossed, the negroes were on the beach, and the storm 
burst. A volley of great quartz pebbles whistled round their 
heads. 

‘Come on, Frank! for life’s sake! Men to the rescue! 
Ah ! what was that ? ’ 

The dull crash of a pebble against Frank’s fair head ! 
Drooping like Hyacinthus beneath the blow of the quoit, he 
sank on Amyas’s arm. The giant threw him over his shoulder, 
and plunged blindly on, — himself struck again and again. 

‘ Fire, men ! Give it the black villains ! ’ 

The arquebuses cracked from the boat in front. What were 
those dull thuds which answered from behind ? Echoes? No. 
Over his head the caliver-balls went screeching. The gov- 
ernor’s guard have turned out, followed them to the beach, fixed 
their calivers, and are firing over the negroes’ heads, as the 
savages rush down upon the hapless brothers. 

If, as all say, there are moments which are hours, how many 
hours was Amyas Leigh in reaching that boat’s bow? Alas! 
the negroes are there as soon as he, and the guard, having left 
their calivers, are close behind them, sword in hand. Amyas 
is up to his knees in water — battered with stones — blinded 
with blood. The boat is swaying off and on against the steep 
pebble-bank; he clutches at it — misses — falls headlong — 
rises half-choked with water; but Frank is still in his arms. 
Another heavy blow — a confused roar of shouts, shots, curses 
— a confused mass of negroes and English, foam and pebbles — 
and he recollects no more. 

He is -lying in the sternsheets of the boat ; stiff, weak, 
half-blind with blood. He looks up ; the moon is still bright 
overhead ; but they are away from the shore now, for the 
wave-crests are dancing white before the land-breeze, high 
above the boat’s side. The boat seems strangely empty. Two 
men are pulling instead of six ! And what is this lying heavy 
across his chest. He pushes, and is answered by a groan. He 
puts his hand down to rise, and is answered by another groan. 

‘ What’s this ? ’ 

‘ All that are left of us,’ says Simon Evans of Clovelly. 

‘All?’ The bottom of the boat seemed paved with human 
bodies. ‘Oh, God! olr, God ! ’ moans Amyas, trying to rise; 
‘ and where — where is Frank ? Frank ! ’ 

‘ Mr. Frank ! ’ cries Evans. There is no answer. 

‘ Dead ? ’ shrieked Amyas. ‘ Look for liim, for God’s sake, 


WHAT BFFELL AT LA GT7AYRA. 


351 


look ! ’ and struggling from under his living load, he peers into 
each pale and bleeding face. " 

‘ Where is he ? Why don’t you speak ; forward there ? ’ 

‘ Because we have nought to say, Sir,’ answers Evans, almost 
surlily. 

Frank was not there. 

‘ Put the boat about ! To the shore ! ’ roars Amyas. 

‘ Look over the gunwale, and judge for yourself. Sir ! ’ 

The waves are leaping fierce and high before a furious 
land-breeze. Return is impossible. 

‘ Cowards ! villains ! traitors ! hounds ! to have left him 
behind ! ’ 

‘ Listen you to me. Captain Amyas Leigh,’ says Simon 
Evans, resting on his oar ; ‘ and hang me for mutiny, if you 
will, when we’re aboard, if we ever get there. Isn’t it enough 
to bring us out to death (as you knew yourself. Sir, for you’re 
prudent enough) to please that poor young gentleman’s fancy 
about a wench ; but you must call coward an honest man that 
have saved your life this night, and not a one of us but has his 
wound to show ? ’ 

Amyas was silent ; the rebuke was just. 

‘ I tell you. Sir, if we’ve hove a stone out of this boat since 
we got off, we’ve hove two hundred weight, and, if the Lord 
had not fought for us, she’d have been stove to noggin-staves 
there on the beach.’ 

‘ How did I come here, then ? ’ 

‘ Tom Hart dragged you in out of five feet water, and then 
thrust the boat off, and had his brains beat out for reward. All 
were knocked down but us two. So help me God, we thought 
that you had hove Mr. Frank on board just as you were knocked 
down, and saw William Frost drag him in.’ 

But William Frost was lying senseless in the bottom of 
the boat. There was no explanation. After all, none was 
needed. 

* And I have three wounds from stones, and this man behind 
me as many more, beside a shot through his shoulder. Now, 
Sir, be we cowards ? ’ 

‘ You have done your duty,’ said Amyas, and sank down in 
the boat and cried as if his heart w’ould break ; and then 
sprang up, and, wounded as he was, took the oar from Evans’s 
hand. With weary work they made the ship, but so exhausted 
that another boat had to be lowered to get them alongside. 

The alarm being now given, it was -hardly safe to remain 
where they were ; and after a stormy and sad argument, it was 


352 


WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA. 


agreed to weigh anchor, and stand off and on till morning ; for 
Amyas refused to leave the spot till he was compelled^ though 
he had no hope (how could he have?) that Frank might still 
be alive. And perhaps it was well for them, as will appear in 
the next chapter, that morning did not find them at anchor close 
to the town. 

However that may be, so ended that fatal venture of mistaken 
chivalry. 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 353 


CHAPTER XX. 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


‘ Full seven long hours in all men’s sight 
This fight endured sore, 

Until our men so feeble grew, 

That they could fight no more. 

And then upon dead horses 
Full savourly they fed. 

And drank the puddle water, 

They could no better get. 

* When they had fed so freely 
They kneeled on the ground. 

And gave God thanks devoutly for 
The favor they had found; 

Then beating up their colours, 

The fight they did renew; 

And turning to the Spaniards, 

A thousand more they slew.’ 

The Brave Lord Willoughby. 1586. 

When the sun leaped up the next morning, and the tropic 
night flashed suddenly into the tropic day, Amyas was pacing 
the deck, with dishevelled hair and torn clothes, his eyes red 
with rage and weeping, his heart* full — how can 1 describe it .? 
Picture it to yourselves, picture it to yourselves, you who have 
ever lost a brother ; and you who have not, thank God that you 
know nothing of his agony. Full of impossible projects, he strode 
and staggered up and down, as the ship thrashed close-hauled 
through the rolling seas. He would go back and burn the 
villa. He would take Guayra, and have the life of every man 
in it in return for his brother’s. ‘ We can do it, lads ! ’ he 
shouted. ‘ If Drake took Nombre de Dios, we can take La 
Guayra.’ And every voice shouted ‘ Yes.’ 

‘ We will have it, Amyas, and have Frank too, yet,’ cried 
Cary; but Amyas shook his head. He* knew, and knew not 
why he knew, that all the ports in New Spain would never 
restore to him that one beloved face. 

30* 


354 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


‘Yes, he shall be. well avenged. And look there ! There is 
the first crop oi our vengeance.’ And he pointed toward the 
shore, where, between them and the now distant peaks of the 
Silla, three sails appeared, not five miles to windward. 

‘ There are the Spanish bloodhounds on our heels, the same 
ship which we saw yesterday off Guayra. Back, lads, and 
welcome them, if they were a dozen.’ 

There was a murmur of applause from all around ; and if 
any young heart sank for a moment at the prospect of fight- 
ing three ships at once, it was awed into silence by the cheer .. 
which rose from all the older men, and by Salvation Yeo’s 
stentorian voice. 

‘ If there were a dozen, the Lord is with us, who has said, 

“ One of you shall chase a thousand.” Clear away, lads, and 
see the glory of the Lord this day.’ 

‘ Amen !’ cried Cary ; and the ship was kep't still closer to 
the wind. 

Amyas had revived at the sight of battle. He no longer 
felt his wounds, or his great sorrow ; even Frank’s last angel’s 
look grew dimmer every moment as he bustled about the deck ; 
and ere a quarter of an hour had passed, his voice cried firmly 
and cheerfully as of old, — 

‘ Now, my masters, let us serve God, and then to breakfast, 
and after that clear for action.’ 

Jack Brimblecombe read the daily prayers, and the prayers 
before a fight at sea, and his honest voice trembled, as, in the 
‘ Prayer for all Conditions of Men’ (in spite of Arnyas’s despair), 
he added, ‘ and especially for our dear brother, Mr. Francis 
Leigh, perhaps captive among the idolaters ; ’ and so they 
rose. 

‘ Now, then,’ said Amyas, ‘ to breakfast. A Frenchman 
fights best fasting, a Dutchman drunk, and an Englishman full, 
and a Spaniard when the devil is in him, and that’s always. 

‘ And good beef and the good cause are a match for the 
devil,’ said Cary. ‘ Come down. Captain ; you must eat, too.’ 

Amyas shook his head, took the tiller from the steersman, 
and bade him go below and fill himself. Will Cary went down, 
and returned in five minutes, with a plate of bread and beef, 
and a great jack of ale, coaxed them down Amyas’s throat, as 
a nurse does with a child, and then scuttled below again with 
the tears hopping down his face. 

Amyas stood still steering. His face was grown seven years 
older in the last night. A terrible set calm was on him. Woe 
to the man who came across him that day ! 

‘ There are three of them, you see, my masters,’ said he 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


355 


as the crew came on deck again. ‘ A big ship forward, and 
the two galleys astern of her. The big ship may keep ; she is a 
race ship, and if we can but recover the wind of her, we will 
see whether our height is not a match for her length. We 
must give her the slip, and take the galleys first. 

‘ I thank the Lord,’ said Yeo, ‘ who has given so wise a 
heart to so young a general ; a very David and Daniel, saving 
his presence, lads ; and if any dare not follow him, let him be 
as the men of Meroz and of Succoth. Amen ! Silas Staveley, 
smite me that boy over the head, the young monkey ; why is 
he not down at the powder-room door ? ’ 

And Yeo went about his gunnery, as one who knew how to 
do it, and had the most terrible mind to do it thoroughly, and 
the most terrible faith that it was God’s work. 

So all fell to ; and though there was comparatively little to be 
done, the ship having been kept as far as could be in fighting 
order all night, yet there was ‘ clearing of decks, lacing of net- 
tings, making of bulwarks, fittingof waist-cloths, arming of tops, 
tallowing of pikes, slinging of yards, doubling of sheets and 
tacks,’ enough to satisfy even the pedantical soul of Richard 
Hawkins himself. Amyas took charge of the poop, Cary of the 
forecastle, and Yeo, as gunner, of the main-deck, while Drew, 
as master, settled himself in the waist ; and all was ready, and 
more than ready, before the great ship was within two miles 
of them. 

And now, while the mastiffs of England and the blood- 
hounds of Spain are nearing and nearing over the rolling 
surges, thirsting for each other’s blood, let us spend a few 
minutes at least in looking at them both, and considering the 
causes which, in those days, enabled the English to face and 
conquer armaments immensely superior in size and number of 
ships, and to boast, that in the whole Spanish war, but one 
Queen’s ship, the Revenge, and (if 1 recollect right) but one 
private man-of-war. Sir Richard Hawkins’s Dainty, had ever 
struck their colors to the enemy. 

What was it which enabled Sir Richard Grenvile’s Revenge, 
in his last fearful fight off the Azores, to endure, for twelve 
hours before she struck, the attack of eight Spanish armadas, 
of which two (three times her own burden) sank at her side ; 
and after all her masts were gone, and she had been boarded 
three times without success, to defy to the last the whole fleet 
of fifty-four sail, which lay around her, waiting for her to sink, 
‘ like dogs around the dying forest king ? ’ 

What enabled young Richard Hawkins’s Dainty, though 
'half her guns were useless through the carelessness or treach- 


356 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


ery of the gunner, to maintain for three days a running fight 
with two Spaniards of equal size with her, double the weight 
of metal, and ten times the number of men ? 

What enabled Sir George Cary’s illustrious ship, the Content, 
to fight single-handed, from seven in the morning till eleven at 
night, with four great armadas and two galleys, though her 
heaviest gun was but one nine-pounder, and for many hours 
she had but thirteen men fit for service ? 

What enabled, in the very year of which I write, those two 
‘ valiant Turkey Merchantmen of London, the Merchant Royal 
and the Tobie,’ with their three small consorts, to cripple, off 
Pantellaria in the Mediterranean, the whole fleet of Spanish 
galleys sent to intercept them, and return triumphant through 
the Straits of Gibraltar ? 

And lastly, what in the fight of 1588, whereof more here- 
after, enabled the English fleet to capture, destroy, and scatter 
that Great Armada, with the loss (but not the capture) of one 
pinnace, and one gentleman of note ? 

There were more causes than one : the first seems to have 
laid in the build of the English ships ; the second, in their 
superior gunnery and weight of metal ; the third (without 
which the first would have been useless), in the hearts of the 
English men. 

The English ship was much shorter than the Spanish ; and 
this (with the rig of those days) gave them an ease in ma- 
noeuvring, which utterly confounded their Spanish foes. ‘ The 
English ships in the fight of 1588,’ says Camden, ‘ charged 
the enemy with marvellous agility, and having discharged their 
broadsides, flew forth presently into the d^ep, and levelled their 
shot directly, without missing, at those great ships of the Span- 
iards, which were altogether heavy and unwieldy.’ Moreover, 
the Spanish fashion, in the West Indies at least, though not in 
the ships of the Great Armada, was, for the sake of carrying 
merchandise, to build their men-of-war flush-decked, or as it 
was called ‘ race ’ (razes), which left those on deck exposed 
and open ; while the English fashion was to heighten the ship 
as much as possible at stem and stern, both by the sweep of 
her lines, and also by stockades (‘ close-fights and cage-works’) 
on the poop and forecastle, thus giving to the men a shelter, 
which was further increased by strong bulk-heads (‘ cobridge- 
heads ’) across the main deck below, dividing the ship thus 
into a number of separate 'forts, fitted with swivels (‘bases, 
fowlers, and murderers ’), and loop-holed for musketry and 
arrows. 

But the great source of superiority was, after all, in the men- 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


857 


themselves. The English sailor was then, as now, a quite 
amphibious and all-cunning animal, capable of turning his hand 
to everything, from needle-work and carpentry to gunnery or 
hand-to-hand blows ; and he was, moreover, one of a nation, 
every citizen of which was not merely permitted to carry arms, 
but compelled by law to practise from childhood the use of the 
bow, and accustomed to consider sword-play and quarter-staff 
as a necessary part and parcel of education, and the pastime of 
every leisure hour. The ‘ fiercest nation upon earth,’ as they 
were then called, and the freest also, each man of them fought 
for himself with the self-help and self-respect of a Yankee 
ranger, and once bidden to do his work, was trusted to carry it 
out by his own wit as best he could. In one word, he was a 
free man. 

The English officers, too, as now, lived on terms of sympathy 
with their men unknown to the Spaniards, who raised between 
the commander and the commanded absurd barriers of rank and 
blood, which forbade to his pride any labor but that of fighting. 
The English officers, on the other hand, brought up to the 
same athletic sports, the same martial exercises, as their men, 
were not ashamed to care for them, to win their friendship, 
even on emergency to consult their judgment ; and used their 
rank not to differ from their men, but to outvie them ; not 
merely to command and be obeyed, but, like Homer’s heroes, 
or the old Norse Vikings, to lead and be followed. Drake 
touched the true main-spring of English success, when he once 
(in his voyage round the world) indignantly rebuked some cox- 
comb gentlemen-adventurers with — ‘I should like to see the 
gentleman that wjll refuse to set his hand to a rope. I must 
have the gentlemen to hale and draw with the mariners.’ But 
those were days in which Her Majesty’s service was as little 
over-ridden by absurd rules of seniority, as by that etiquette 
which is at once the counterfeit and the ruin of true discipline. 
Under Elizabeth and her ministers, a brave and a shrewd man 
was certain of promotion, let his rank or his age be what they 
might ; the true honor of knighthood covered once and for all 
any lowliness of birth ; and the merchant service (in which all 
the best sea-captains, even those of noble blood, were more or 
less engaged) was then a nursery, not only for seamen, but for 
warriors, in days when^Spanish and Portuguese traders (when- 
ever they had a chance) got rid of English competition by salvos 
of cannon-shot. 

Hence, as I have said, that strong fellow-feeling between 
officers and men ; and hence mutinies (as Sir Richard Hawkins 
tells us) were all but unknown in the English ships, while in 


358 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


Spanish they broke out on every slight occasion. For the 
Spaniard, by some suicidal pedantry, had allowed their navy to 
be crippled by the same despotism, etiquette, and official routine, 
by which the whole nation was gradually frozen to death in the 
course of the next century or two ; forgetting that, fifty years 
before, Cortez, Pizarro, and the early Conquistadores of America, 
had achieved their miraculous triumphs on the exactly opposite 
method ; by that very fellow-feeling between commander and 
commanded, by which the English were now conquering them 
in their turn. 

Their navy was organized on a plan complete enough ; but 
on one, which was, as the event proved, utterly fatal to their 
prowess and unanimity, and which made even their courage and 
honor useless against the assaults of free men. ‘ They do, in 
their armadas at sea, divide themselves into three bodies ; to 
wit, soldiers, mariners, and gunners. The soldiers and officers 
watch and ward as if on shore ; and this is the only duty they 
undergo, except cleaning their arms, wherein they are not over 
curious. The gunners are exempted from all labor and care, 
except about the artillery ; and these are either Almaines, 
Flemings, or strangers ; for the Spaniards are but indifferently 
practised in this art. The mariners are but as slaves to the rest, 
to moil and to toil day and night; and those but few and bad, 
and not suffered to sleep or harbor under the decks. For in 
fair or foul weather, in storms, sun, or rain, they must pass void 
of covert or succor.’ 

This is the account of one who was long a prisoner on board 
their ships; let it explain itself, while I return to my tale. For 
the great ship is now within two musket-shots of the Rose, with 
the golden flag of Spain floating at her poop ; and her trumpets 
are shouting defiance up the breeze, from a dozen brazen 
throats, which two or three answer lustily from the Rose, from 
whose poop flies the flag of England, and from her fore the 
arms of Leigh and Cary side by side, and over them the ship 
and bridge of the good town of Bideford. And then Amyas 
calls, — 

‘ Now, silence trumpets ; waits, play up ! ‘‘ Fortune, my foe ! ” 
and God and the Queen be with us ! ’ 

Whereon (laugh not, reader, for it was the fashion of those 
musical, as well as valiant days), up rose that noble old favorite 
of good Queen Bess, from cornet and sackbut, fife and drum ; 
while Parson Jack, who had taken his stand with the musicians 
on the poop, worked away lustily at his violin, like Volke*r of 
the Nibelungen Lied. 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


359 


“ Well played, Jack ; thy elbow flies like a lamb’s tail,’ said 
Amyas, forcing a jest. 

‘ It shall fly to a better fiddle-bow presently, Sir, an’ I have 
the luck — ’ 

‘ Steady, helm ! ’ said Amyas. ^ ‘ What is he after now ? ’ 

The Spaniard, who had been coming upon them right down 
the wind under a press of sail, took in his light canvas. 

‘ He don’t know what to make of our waiting for him so 
bold,’ said the helmsman. 

‘ He does, though, and means to fight us,’ cried another. 
‘See, he is hauling up the foot of his mainsail ; but he wants to 
keep the wind of us.’ 

‘ Let him try, then,’ quoth Amyas. ‘ Keep her closer still. 
Let no one fire till we are about. Man the starboard guns ; to 
starboard, and wait, all small arm men. Pass the order down to 
the gunner, and bid all fire high, and take the rigging.’ 

Bang went one of the Spaniard’s bow-guns, and the shot 
went wide. Then another and another, while the men fidgeted 
about, looking at the priming of their muskets, and loosened 
their arrows in the sheaf. 

‘ Lie down, men, and sing a psalm. When I want you. I’ll 
call you. Closer still, if you can, helmsman, and we will try a 
short ship against a long one. We can sail two points nearer 
the wind than he.’ 

As Amyas had calculated, the Spaniard would gladly enough 
have stood across the Rose’s bows, but knowing the English 
readiness, dare not, for fear of being raked ; so her only plan, 
if she did not intend to shoot past her foe down to leeward, wa^ 
to put her head close to the wind, and wait for her on the same 
tack. 

Amyas laughed to himself. ^ Hold on yet awhile. More 
ways of killing a cat than choking her with cream. Drew, 
there, are your men ready ? ’ 

‘ Ay, ay, Sir ! ’ and on they went, closing fast with the Span- 
iard, till within a pistol-shot. 

‘ Ready about ! ’ and about she went like an eel, and ran 
upon the opposite tack right under the Spaniard's stern. The 
Spaniard, astounded at the quickness of the manoeuvre, hesi- 
tated a moment, and then tried to get about ‘also, as his only 
chance ; but it was too late, and while his lumbering length 
was still hanging in the wind’s eye, Amyas’s bowsprit had all 
but scraped his quarter, and the Rose parsed slowly across his 
stern at ten yards’ distance. 

‘Now, then!’ roared Amyas. Fire, and with a will! 
Have at her, archers ; have at her, muskets all ! ’ and in an in- 


3G0 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


stant a storm of bar and chain-shot, round and canister, swept the 
proud Don from stem to stern, while through the white cloud of 
smoke the musket-halls, and the still deadlier cloth-yard arrows, 
whistled and rushed upon their venomous errand. Down went 
the steersman, and every soul who manned the poop. Down 
went the mizen topmast, in went the stern-windows and quarter- 
galleries ; and as the smoke cleared away, the gorgeous paint- 
ing of the Madre Dolorosa, with her heart full of seven swords, 
which, in a gilded frame, bedizened the Spanish stern, was 
shivered in splinters; while, most glorious of all, the golden 
flag of Spain, which the last moment flaunted above their heads, 
hung trailing in the water. The ship, her tiller shot away, and 
her helmsman killed, staggered helplessly a moment, and then 
fell up into the wind. 

‘ Well done, men of Devon ! ’ shouted Amyas, as cheers rent- 
the welkin. 

‘ She has struck,’ cried spme, as the deafening hurrahs died 
away. 

‘ Not a bit,’ said Amyas. ‘ Hold on, helmsman, and leave 
her to patch her tackle while we settle the galleys.’ 

On they shot merrily, and long ere the armada could get her- 
self to rights again, were two good miles to windward, with the 
galleys sweeping down fast upon them. 

And two venomous-looking craft they were, as they shot 
through the short chopping sea upon some forty oars apiece, 
stretching their long sword-fish snouts over the water, as if 
snuffing for their prey. Behind this long snout, a strong square 
sforecastle was crammed with soldiers, and the muzzles of can- 
nhu^grinned out through port-holes, not only in the sides of the 
forecastle, but forward in the line of the galley's course, thus 
enabling her to keep up a continual fire on a ship right ahead. 

The long low waist was packed full of the slaves, some five or 
six to each oar, and down the centre, between the two banks, 
the English could see the slave-drivers walking up and down a 
long gangway, whip in hand. A raised quarter-deck at the 
stern held more soldiers, the sunlight flashed merrily upon their 
armor and their gun-barrels ; as they neared, the English could 
hear plainly the cracks of the whips, and the yells as of wild 
beasts which answered them ; the roll and rattle of the oars, 
and the loud ‘Fla!’ of the slaves which accompanied every 
stroke, and the oaths and curses of the drivers; while a sicken- 
ing musky smell, as of a pack of kenneled hounds, came dowm 
the wind from off those dens of misery. No wonder if many 
a young heart shuddered, as it faced, for the first time, the 
horrible reality of those floating hells, the cruellies whereof 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


361 


had rung so often in English ears, from the stories of their own 
countrymen, who had passed them, fought them, and now and 
then passed years of misery on board of them. Who knew 
but what there might be English among those sun-browned, 
half-naked masses of panting wretches ? 

‘ Must we fire upon the slaves ? ’ asked more than one, as the 
thought crossed him. 

Amyas sighed. 

‘ Spare them all you can, in God’s name ; but if they try to 
run us down, rake them we must, and God forgive us.’ 

The two galleys came on abreast of each other, some forty 
yards apart. To out-manoeuvre their oars, as he had done the 
ship’s sails, Amyas knew was impossible. To run from them 
was to be caught between them and the ship. 

He made up his mind, as usual, to the desperate game. 

‘ Lay her head up in the wind, helmsman, and we will wait 
for them.’ 

They were now within musket-shot, and opened fire from their 
bow-guns; but, owing to the chopping sea, their aim was wild. 
Amyas, as usual, withheld his fire. 

The men stood at quarters with compressed lips, not knowing 
what was to come next. Amyas, towering motionless on the 
quarter-deck, gave his orders calmly and decisively. The men 
saw that he trusted himself, and trusted him accordingly. 

The Spaniard, seeing him wait for them, gave a shout of joy 
— was the Englishman mad ? And the two galleys converged 
rapidly, intending to strike him full, one on each bow. 

They were within forty yards — another minute, and the 
shock would come. The Englishman’s helm went up, his 
yards creaked round, and gathering way, he plunged upon the 
larboard galley. 

‘ A dozen gold nobles to him who brings down the steers- 
man ! ’ shouted Cary, who had his cue. 

And a flight of arrows from the forecastle rattled upon the 
galley’s quarter-deck. 

Hit or not hit, the steersman lost his nerve, and shrank from 
the coming shock. The galley’s helm went up to port, and her 
beak slid all but harmless along Amyas’s bow ; a long dull 
grind, and then loud crack on crack, as the Rose sawed slowly 
through the bank of oars from stem to stern, hurling the wretched 
slaves in heaps upon each other; and ere her mate on the other 
side could swim round, to strike him in his new position, Amyas’s 
whole broadside, great and small, had been poured into her at 
pistol-shot, answered by a yell which rent their ears and hearts. 

‘ Spare the slaves ! Fire at the soldiers,’ cried Amyas; but 
31 


362 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNES 


the work was too hot for much discrimination ; for the larboard 
galley, crippled but not undaunted, swung round across his 
stern, and hooked herself venomously on to him. 

It was a move more brave than wise, for it prevented the other 
galley from returning to the attack without exposing herself a 
second time to the English broadside ; and a desperate attempt 
of the Spaniards to board at once through the stern-ports, and 
up the quarter was met with such a demurrer of shot and steel, 
that they found themselves in three minutes again upon the 
galley’s poop, accompanied, to their intense disgust, by Amyas 
Leigh and twenty English swords. 

Five minutes’ hard cutting, hand to hand, and the poop was . 
clear. The soldiers in the forecastle had been able to give them 
no assistance, open as they lay to the arrows and musketry from 
the Rose’s lofty stern. Amyas rushed along the central gang- 
way, shouting in Spanish, ‘ Freedom to the slaves ! death to the 
masters ! ’ clambered into the forecastle, followed close by his 
swarm of wasps, and set them so good an example how to use 
their stings, that in three minutes more, there was not a Spaniard 
on board who was not dead or dying. 

‘ Set the slaves free ! ’ shouted he. ‘ Throw us a hammer 
down, men. Hark ! there’s an English voice.’ 

There is, indeed. From amid the wreck of broken oars and 
writhing limbs, a voice is shrieking in broadest Devon to the 
master, who is looking over the side. 

‘ Oh, Robeit Drew ! Robert Drew ! Come down, and take me 
out of hell ! ’ 

‘ Who be you, in the name of the Lord ? ’ 

‘Don’t you mind William Prust, that Captain Hawkins left 
behind in the Honduras, years and years agone ? There’s nine 
of us aboard, if your shot hasn’t put ’em out of their misery. . 
Come down, if you’ve a Christian heart, come down ! ’ 

Utterly forgetful of all discipline. Drew leaps down, hammer 
in hand, and the two old comrades rush into each other’s arms. 

Why make a long story of what took but five minutes to do > 
The nine men (luckily none of them wounded) are freed, and 
helped on board, to be hugged and kissed by old comrades and 
young kinsmen, while the remaining slaves, furnished with a 
couple of hammers, are told to free themselves and help the 
English. The wretches answer by a shout; and Amyas, once 
more safe on board again, dashes after the other galley, which 
has been hovering out of reach of his guns : but there is no 
need to trouble himself about her; sickened with what she has 
got, she is struggling right up wind, leaning over to one side 
and seemingly ready to sink. 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 363 

‘ Are there any English on board of her? ’ asks Amyas, loth 
to lose the chance of freeing a countryman. 

‘ Never a one, Sir, thank God.’ 

So they set to work to repair damages ; while the liberated 
slaves, having shifted some of the galley’s oars, pulled away 
after their comrade ; and that with such a will, that in ten min- 
utes they have caught her up, and, careless of ‘the Spaniard’s 
fire, boarded her en ?nasse, with yells as of a thousand wolves. 
There will be fearful vengeance taken on those tyrants, unless 
they play the man this day. 

And in the meanwhile half the crew are clothing, feeding, 
questioning, caressing those nine poor fellows thus snatched 
from living death; and Yeo, hearing the news, has rushed up 
on deck to welcome his old comrades, and — 

‘ Is Michael' Heard, rny cousin, here among you ? ’ 

Yes, Michael Heard is there, white-headed rather from 
misery than age ; and the embracings and questionings begin 
afresh. 

‘ Where is my wife. Salvation Yeo ? ’ 

‘ VV^ith the Lord.’ 

• Amen ! ’ says the old man, with a short shudder. 

‘ I thought so much ; and my two boys ? ’ 

‘ With the Lord.’ 

The old man catches Yeo by the arm. 

‘ IIow then ? ’ It is Yeo’s turn to shudder now. 

‘ Killed in Panama, fighting the Spaniards ; sailing with Mr. 
Oxenham ; and ’twas I led ’em into it. May God and you for- 
give me ! ’ 

‘ They couldn’t die better, cousin Yeo. Where’s my girl 
Grace ? ’ 

‘ Died in childbed.’ 

‘ Any childer ? ’ 

‘ No.’ 

The old man covers his face with his hands for awhile. 

‘ Well, Pve been alone with the Lord this fifteen years, so 
I must not whine at being alone awhile longer — ’t won’t be 
long.’ 

‘ Put this coat on your back, uncle,’ says some one. 

‘ No ; no coats for me. Naked came I into the world, and 
naked I go out of it this day, if I have a chance. You’m better 
to go to your work, lads, or the big one will have the wind of 
you yet.’ 

‘ So she will,’ said Amyas, who has overheard ; but so great 
is the curiosity on all hands, that he has some trouble in getting 
the men to quarters again ; indeed, they only go on condition 


364 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


of parting among themselves with them the new comers, each 
to tell his sad and strange story. How after Captain Hawkins, 
constrained by famine, had put them ashore, they wandered in 
misery till the Spaniards took them ; how, instead of hanging 
them (as they first intended), the Dons fed and clothed them, 
and allotted them as servants to various gentlemen about Mexico, 
where they throve, turned their hands (like true sailors) to all 
manner of trades, and made much money, and some of them 
were married, even to women of wealth ; so that all went well 
until the fatal year 1574, when, ‘ much against the minds of 
many of the Spaniards themselves, that cruel and bloody Inqui- 
sition was established for the first time in the Indies ; ’ and how, 
from that moment, their lives were one long tragedy ; how they 
were all imprisoned for a year and a half, not for proselytizing, 
but simply for not believing in transubstantiation ; racked again 
and again, and at last adjudged to receive publicly, on Good 
Friday, 1575, some three hundred, some one hundred stripes, 
and to serve in the galleys for six or ten years each ; while, as 
the crowning atrocity of the Moloch sacrifice, three of them 
were burnt alive in the market-place of Mexico ; a story no less 
hideous than true, the details whereof whoso list may read in' 
Hakluyt’s third volume, as told by Philip Miles, one of that hap- 
less crew ; as well as the adventures of Job Hortop, a messmate 
of his, who, after being sent to Spain, and seeing two more of 
his companions burnt alive at Seville, was sentenced to row in 
the galleys ten years, and after that to go to the ‘ everlasting 
prison remediless;’ from which doom, after twenty-three years 
of slavery, he was delivered by the galleon Dudley, and came 
safely home to Red riff. 

The fate of Hortop and his comrades was, of course, still 
unknown to the rescued men ; but the history even of their 
party was not likely to improve the good feeling of the crew 
toward the Spanish ship, which was two miles to leeward of 
them, and which must be fought with, or fled from, before a 
quarter of an hour was past. So, kneeling down upon the deck, 
as many a brave crew in those days did in like case, they ‘ gave 
God thanks devoutly for the favor they had found ; ’ and then 
with one accord, at Jack’s leading, sang, one and all, the ninety- 
fourth Psalm : * 

‘ Oh, Lord, thou dost revenge all wrong ; 

Vengeance belongs to thee,’ &c. 


* The crew of the Tobie, cast away on the Barbary coast, a few years 
after, ‘ began with heavy hearts to sing the l‘2th Psalm, “ Help, Lord, for 
good and godly men,” &c. Howbeit, ere we had finished four verses,’ the 
waves of the sea had stopped the breaths of most.* 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


355 


And then again to quarters ; for half the day’s work, or more 
than half, still remained to be done ; and hardly were the decks 
cleared afresh, and the -damage repaired as best it could be, 
when she came ranging up to leeward, as close-hauled as she 
could. 

She was, as I said, a long flush-decked ship of full five 
hundred tons, more than double the size, in fact, of the Rose, 
though not so lofty in proportion ; and many a bold heart beat 
loud, and no shame to them, as she began firing away merrily, 
determined, as all well knew, to wipe out in English blood the 
disgrace of her late foil. 

‘ Never mind, my merry masters,’ said Amyas, ‘ she has 
quantity and we quality.’ 

‘ That’s true, said one, ‘ for one honest man is worth two 
rogues.’ 

‘And one culverin three of their footy little ordnance,’ said 
another. ‘ So when you will. Captain, and have at her.’ 

‘ Let her come abreast of us, and don’t burn powder. We 
have the wind, and can do what we like with her. Serve the 
men out a horn of ale all round, steward, and all take your 
time.’ 

So they waited for five minutes more, and then set to work 
quietly, after the fashion of English mastiffs, though, like those 
mastiffs, they waxed right mad before three rounds were fired, 
and the white splinters (sight beloved) began to crackle and 

fly- . 

Amyas having, as he had said, the wind, and being able to 
go nearer it than the Spaniard, kept his place at easy point- 
blank range for his two eighteen-pounder culverins, which Yeo 
and his mate worked with terrible effect. 

‘ We are lacking her through and through every shot,’ said 
he. ‘ Leave the small ordnance alone yet awhile, and we shall 
sink her without them.’ 

‘ Whing, whing,’ went the Spaniard’s shot, like so many 
humming-tops, through the rigging far above their heads ; for 
the ill-constructed ports of those days prevented the guns from 
hulling an enemy who was to windward, unless close along- 
side. 

‘ Blow, jolly breeze,’ cried one, ‘ and lay the Don over all 
thou canst. What the murrain is gone, aloft there .? ’ 

Alas ! a crack, a flap, a rattle ; and blank dismay ! An un- 
lucky shot had cut the foremast (already wounded) in two, and 
all forward was a mass of dangling wreck. 

‘ Forward, and cut away the wreck !’ said Amyas, unmoved. 

31 * 


366 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


‘ Small-arm men, be ready. He will be aboard of us in five 
minutes!’ 

It was too true. The Rose, unmanageable from the loss of 
her head-sail, lay at the mercy of the Spaniard ; and the 
archers and musketeers had hardly time to range themselves 
to leeward, when the. Madre Dolorosa’s chains were grinding 
against the Rose’s, and grapples tossed on board from stem to 
stern. 

‘ Don’t cut them loose ! ’ roared Amyas. ‘ Let them stay 
and see the fun ! Now, dogs of Devon, show your teeth, and 
hurrah for God and the Queen ! ’ 

And then began a fight most fierce and fell ; the Spaniards, 
according to their fashion, attempting to board, the English, 
amid fierce shouts of ‘God and the Queen!’ ‘God and St. 
George for England!’ sweeping them back by showers of 
arrows and musket balls, thrusting them down with pikes, 
hurling grenades and stink-pots from the tops ; while the 
swivels on both sides poured their grape, and bar, and chain, 
and the great main-deck guns, thunder muzzle to muzzle, 
made both ships quiver and recoil, as they smashed the round 
shot through and through each other. 

So they roared and flashed, fast clenched to each other in 
that devil’s wedlock, under a cloud of smoke beneath the cloud- 
less tropic sky; while all around, the dolphins gambolled, and 
the flying-fish shot on from swell to swell, and the rainbow-hued 
jellies opened and shut their cups of living crystal to the sun, 
as merrily as if man had never fallen, and hell had never 
broken loose on earth. 

So it raged for an hour or more, till all arms were weary, 
and all tongues clove to the mouth. And sick men, rotting 
with scurvy, scrambled up on deck, and fought with the strength 
of madness; and tiny powder-boys, handing up cartridges from 
the hold, laughed and cheered as the shot rang past their ears ; 
and old Salvation Yeo, a text upon his lips, and a fury in his 
heart, as of Joshua or Elijah in old time, worked on, calm and 
grim, but with the energy of a boy at play. And now and 
then an opening in the smoke showed the Spanish captain, in 
his suit of black steel armor, standing cool and proud, guiding 
and pointing, careless of the iron hail, but too lofty a gentle^ 
man to soil his glove with aught but a knightly sword-hilt; 
while Amyas and Will, after the fashion of the English gentle- 
man, had stripped themselves nearly as bare as their own 
sailors, and were cheering, thrusting, hewing, and hauling, 
here, there, and everywhere, like any common mariner, an^d 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


367 


filling thenn with a spirit of self-respect, fellow-feeling, and 
personal daring, which the discipline of the Spaniards, more 
perfect mechanically, but cold and tyrannous, and crushing 
spiritually, never could bestow. The black-plumed Senor was 
obeyed ; but the golden-locked Amyas was followed ; and would 
have been followed through the jaws of hell. 

The Spaniards, ere five minutes had passed, poured en masse 
into the Rose’s waist ; but only to their destruction. Between 
the poop and forecastle (as was then the fashion), the upper- 
deck beams were left open and unplanked, with the exception 
of a narrow gangway on either side ; and off that fatal ledge 
the boarders, thrust on by those behind, fell headlong between 
the beams to the main-deck below, to be slaughtered helpless 
in that pit of destruction, by the double fire from the bulkheads 
fore and aft ; while the few who kept their footing on the gang- 
way, after vain attempts to force the stockades on poop and 
forecastle, leaped overboard again amid a shower of shot and 
arrows. The fire of the English was as steady as it was quick ; 
and though three fourths of the crew had never smelt powder 
before, they proved well the truth of the old chroniclers say- 
ing (since proved again more gloriously than ever, at Alma, 
Balaklava, and Inkermann), that ‘ the English never fight better 
than in their first battle.’ 

Thrice the Spaniards clambered on board ; and thrice surged 
back before that deadly hail. The decks on both sides were 
very shambles; and Jack Brimblecornbe, who had fought as 
long as his conscience would allow him, found, when he turned 
to a more clerical occupation, enough to do in carrying poor 
wretches to the surgeon, without* giving that spiritual consola- 
tion which he longed to give, and they to receive. At last 
there was a lull in that wild storm. No shot was heard from 
the Spaniard’s upper deck. 

Amyas leaped into the mizzen rigging, and looked through 
the smoke. Dead men he could descry through the blinding 
veil, rolled in heaps, laid flat; dead men and dying: but no 
man upon his feet. The last volley had swept the deck clear; 
one by one had dropped below to escape that fiery shower; 
and alone at the helm, grinding his teeth with rage, his mus- 
tachios curling up to his very eyes, stood the Spanish captain. 

Now was the moment for a counter-stroke. Amyas shouted 
for the boarders, and in two minutes more he was over the side, 
and clutching at the Spaniard’s mizzen rigging. 

What was this.? The distance between him and the enemy’s 
side was widening. Was she sheering off.? Yes — and rising, 


368 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


too, growing bodily higher every moment, as if by magic. 
Amyas looked up in astonishment, and saw what it was. The 
Spaniard was heeling fast over to leeward away from him. 
Her masts were all sloping forward, swifter and swifter — the 
end ^as come, then ! 

‘ Back ! in God’s name, back, men ! She is sinking by the 
head !’ And, with much ado, some were dragged back, some 
leaped back — all but old Michael Heard. 

With hair and beard floating in the wind, the bronzed, naked 
figure, like some weird old Indian fakir, still climbed on stead- 
fastly up the mizzen-chains of the Spaniard, hatchet in hand. 

‘Come back, Michael! Leap while you may!’ shouted a 
dozen voices. Michael turned, — 

‘ And what should I come back for, then, to go home where 
no one knoweth me? I’ll die like an Englishman this day, or 
I’ll know the reason why ! ’ and turning, he sprang in over the 
bulwarks, as the huge ship rolled up more and more, like a 
dying whale, exposing all her long black bulk almost down to 
the keel, and one of her lower-deck guns, as if in defiance, 
exploded upright into the air, hurling the ball to the very 
heavens. 

In an instant it was answered from the Rose by a column of 
smoke, and the eighteen-pound ball crashed through the bottom 
of the defenceless Spaniard. 

‘ Who fired ? Shame to fire on a sinking ship ! ’ 

‘ Gunner Yeo, Sir,’ shouted a voice up from the main-deck. 
‘ He’s like a madman down here.** 

‘ Tell him if he fires again. I’ll put him in irons, if he were 
my own brother. Cut away the grapples aloft, men. Don’t 
you see how she drags us over? Cut away, or we shall sink 
with her.’ 

They cut away, and the Rose, released from the strain, shook 
her feathers on the wave-crest like a freed sea-gull, while all 
men held their breaths. 

Suddenly the glorious creature righted herself ; and rose 
again, as if in noble shame, for one last struggle with her 
doom. Her bows were deep in the water, but her after-deck 
still dry. Righted : but only for a moment, long enough to let 
her crew come pouring wildly up on deck, with cries and 
prayers, and rush aft to the poop, where, under the flag of 
Spain, stood the tall captain, his left hand on the standard -staff, 
his sword pointed in his right. 

‘Back, men!’ they heard him cry, ‘and die like valiant 
mariners.’ 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


369 


Some of them ran to the bulwarks, and shouted, ‘ Mercy ! 
We surrender ! ’ and the English broke into a cheer, and called 
to them to run her alongside. 

‘ Silence ! ’ shouted Amyas, ‘ I take no surrender from 
mutineers. Sefior,’ cried he to the captain, springing into the 
rigging, and taking off his hat, ‘ for the love of God and these 
men, strike ! and surrender d huena querra. 

The Spaniard lifted his hat, and bowed courteously, and 
answered, ‘ Impossible, Senor. No querra is good which stains 
my honor.’ 

‘ God have mercy on you, then ! ’ 

Amen ! ’ said the Spaniard, crossing himself. 

.♦She gave one awful lunge forward, and dived under the 
coming swell, hurling her crew into the eddies. Nothing but 
the point of her poop remained, and there stood the stern and 
steadfast Don, cap-a-pie in his glistening black armor, immov- 
able as a man of iron, while over him the flag, which claimed 
the empire of both worlds, flaunted its gold aloft and upwards 
in the glare of the tropic noon. 

‘ He shall not carry that flag to the devil with him ; I will 
have it yet, if- 1 die for it ! ’ said Will Cary, and rushed to the 
side to leap overboard : but Amyas stopped him. 

‘ Let him die as he has lived, with honor.’ 

A wild figure sprang out of the mass of sailors who struggled 
and shrieked amid the foam, and rushed upward at the Span- 
iard. It was Michael Heard. The Don, who stood above him, 
plunged his sword into the old man’s body : but the hatchet 
gleamed, nevertheless: down went the blade through head- 
piece and through head ; and as Heard sprang onward, bleed- 
ing, but alive, the steel-clad corpse rattled down the deck into 
the surge. Two more strokes, struck with the fury of a dying 
man, and the standard-staff w'as hewn through. Old Michael 
collected all his strength, hurled the flag far from the sinking ship, 
and then stood erect one moment, and shouted ‘ God save Queen 
Bess ! ’ and the English answered with a ‘ hurrah ! ’ which rent 
the welkin. 

Another moment, and the gulf had swallowed his victim, and 
the poop, and him ; and nothing remained of the’Madre Dolorosa 
but a few floating spars and struggling wretches, while a great 
awe fell upon all men, and a solemn silence, broken only by 
the cry 

* Of some strong swimmer in bis agony.’ 

And then, suddenly collecting themselves, as men awakened 
from a dream, half-a-dozen desperate gallants, reckless of 


370 


SPANISH BLOODHPUNDS 


sharks and eddies, leaped overboard, swam toward the flag, 
and towed it alongside in triumph. 

‘ Ah ! ’ said Salvation Yeo, as he helped the trophy up over 
the side ; ‘ ah ! it was not for nothing thqt we found poor 
Michael ! He was always a good comrade — nigh as good a 
one as William Penberthy of Marazion, whom the Lord grant I 
meet in bliss ! And now, then, my masters, shall we inshore 
again, and burn La Guayra ? ’ 

‘ Art thou never glutted with Spanish blood, thou old wolf.? ’ 
asked Will Cary. 

‘ Never, Sir,’ answered Yeo. 

‘ To St. Jago be it,’ said Amyas, ‘ if we can get there ; but — 
God help us ! — ’ •• 

And he looked round sadly enough ; while no one needed 
that he should finish his sentence, or explain his ‘ but.’ 

The foremast was gone, the mainyard sprung, the rigging 
hanging in elf-locks, the hull shot through and through in 
twenty places, the deck strewn with the bodies of nine good 
men, besides sixteen wounded down below ; while the pitiless 
sun, right above their heads, poured down a flood of fire upon 
a sea of glass. 

And it would have been well if faintness and weariness had 
been all that was the matter ; but now that the excitement was 
over, the collapse came ; and the men sat down listlessly and 
sulkily by twos and threes upon the deck, starting and wincing 
when they heard some poor fellow below cry out under the 
surgeon’s knife; or murmuring to each other that all was lost. 
Drew tried in vain to rouse them, telling them that all depended ^ 
on rigging a jury-mast forward as soon as possible. They 
answered only by growls ; and at last broke into open reproaches. 
Even Will Cary’s volatile nature, which had kept him up during 
the fight, gave way, when Yeo and the carpenter came aft, and 
told Amyas, in a low voice, — 

‘ We are hit somewhere forward, below the water-line. Sir. 
She leaks a terrible deal, and the Lord will not vouchsafe to us 
to lay our hands on the place, for all our searching.’ 

‘ What are we to do now, Amyas, in the devil’s name .? ’ 
asked Cary, peevishly. 

‘ What are we to do, in God’s name, rather,’ answered Amyas, 
in a low voice. ‘ Will, Will, what did God make you a gentle- 
man for, but to know better than those poor, fickle fellows 
forward, who blow hot and cold at every change of weather? ’ 

‘ I wish you’d come forward and speak to them. Sir,’ said 
Yeo, who had overheard the last words, ‘ or we shall get nought 
done.’ 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


371 


Amyas went forward instantly. 

‘ Now then, my brave lads, what’s the matter here, that you 
are all sitting on your tails like monkeys ? ’ 

‘ Ugh ? ’ grunts one. ‘ Don’t you think our day’s work has 
been long enough yet. Captain ? ’ 

‘ You don’t want us to go in to La Guayra again, Sir ? There 
are enough of us thrown away already, I reckon, about that 
wench there.’ 

‘ Best sit here, and sink quietly. There’s no getting home 
again, that’s plain.’ 

‘Why were we brought out here to be killed ’ 

‘ For shame, men ! ’ cries Yeo ; ‘ you’re no better than a set 
of stiff-necked Hebrew Jews, murmuring against Moses the 
very minute after the Lord has delivered you from the Egyp- 
tians.’ 

Now T do not wish to set Amyas up as a perfect man ; for he 
had his faults, like every one else ; nor as better, thank God, than 
many and many a brave and virtuous captain in Her Majesty’s 
service at this very day : but certainly, he behaved admirably un- 
der that trial. Drake had trained him, as he trained many another 
excellent officer, to be as stout in discipline, and as dogged of 
purpose, as he himself was; but he had trained him, also, to 
feel with and for his men, to make allowances for them, and to 
keep his temper with them, as he did this day. True, he had 
seen Drake in a rage ; he had seen him hang one man for 
mutiny (and that man his dearest friend), and threaten to hang 
thirty more : but Amyas remembered well that that explosion 
took place when having, as Drake said publicly himself, ‘taken 
in hand that I know not in the world how to go through w*ith ; 
it passeth my capacity ; it hath even bereaved me of my wits 
to think of it,’ . . . and having ‘ now set together by the 

ears three mighty princes. Her Majesty and the kings of Spain 
and Portugal,’ he found his whole voyage ready to come to 
nought, ‘ by mutinies and discords, controversy between the 
sailors and gentlemen, and stomaching between the gentlemen 
and sailors.’ ‘ But, my masters,’ (quoth the self-trained hero, and 
Amyas never forgot his words), ‘ I must have it left ; for 1 must 
have the gentleman to haul and draw with the mariner, and the 
mariner with the gentleman. I would like to know him that 
would refuse to set his hand to a rope ! ’ 

And now Amyas’s conscience smote him, (and his simple 
and pious soul took the loss of his brother as God’s verdict on 
his conduct), because he had set his own private affection, even 
his own private revenge, before the safety of his ship’s com- 
pany and the good of his country. 


372 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


‘ All,’ said he to himself, as he listened to his men’s re- 
proaches, ‘ If I had been thinking, like a loyal soldier, of serving 
my Queen and crippling the Spaniard, I should have taken that 
great bark three days ago, and in it the very man I sought ! ’ 

So, t choking down his old man,’ as Yeo used to say, he made 
answer cheerfully, — 

‘Pooh! pooh! brave lads ! For shame, for shame! You 
were lions half-an-hour ago : you are not surely turned sheep 
already ? Why, but yesterday evening you were grumbling 
because I would not run in and fight those three ships under 
the batteries of La Guayra, and now you think it too much to 
have fought them fairly out at sea ? What has happened but 
the chances of war, which might have happened anywhere? 
Nothing venture, nothing win; and nobody goes bird-nesting 
without a fall at times. If any one wants to be safe in this life, 
he’d best stay at home and keep his bed ; though even there, 
who knows but the roof might fall through on him ? ’ 

‘ Ah,’ it’s all very well for you. Captain,’ said some grumbling 
younker, with a vague notion that Amyas must be better off 
than he, because he was a gentleman. Amyas’s blood rose. 

‘ Yes, sirrah ! it is very well for me, as long as God is with 
me : but He is with every man in this ship, 1 would have you 
to know, as much as He is with me. Do not fancy that I have 
nothing to lose ? — 1, who have ventured in this voyage all I am 
worth, and more ; who, if 1 fail, must return to beggary and 
scorn ? And if 1 have ventured rashly, — sinfully, if you will, — 
the lives of any of you in my own private quarrel, am 1 not 
punished ? Have I not lost ? ’ 

His voice trembled and stopped there, but he recovered him- 
self in a moment. 

‘ Pish ! I can’t stand here chattering. Carpenter ! an axe ! 
and help me to cast these spars loose. Get out of my way, 
there ! lumbering the scuppers up like so many moulting fowls ! 
Plere, all old friends, lend a hand ! Pelican’s men, stand by 
your Captain ! Did we sail round the world for nothing ? ’ 

This last appeal struck home, and up leaped half-a-dozen of 
the old Pelicans, and set to work at his side manfully, to rig the 
jury-mast. 

‘ Come along ! ’ cried Cary, to the malcontents ; ‘ we’re raw, 
long-shore fellows, but we won’t be outdone by any old sea-dog 
of them all.’ And setting to work himself, he was soon fob' 
lowed by one and another, till order and work went on well 
enough. 

‘ And where are we going when the mast’s up ? ’ shouted 
some saucy hand from behind. - 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


373 


‘ Where you daren’t follow us alone by yourself, so you’d 
better keep us company,’ replied Yeo. 

‘ I’ll tell you where we are going, my lads,’ said Amyas, 
rising from his work. ‘ Like it or leave it as you will, I have no 
secrets from my crew. We are going inshore there to find a 
harbor, and careen the ship.’ 

There was a start and a murmur. 

‘ Inshore ? Into the Spaniards’ mouths ? ’ 

‘ All in the Inquisition in a week’s time.’ 

‘ Better stay here and be drowned.’ 

‘ You’re right in that last,’ shouts Cary. ‘ That’s the right 
death for blind puppies. Look you ! I don’t know in the least 
where we are, and I hardly know stem from stern aboard ship ; 
and the Captain may be right or wrong — that’s nothing to me : 
but this I know, that I am a soldier, and will obey orders ; and 
where he goes I go ; and whosoever hinders rne, must walk up 
my sword to do it.’ 

Amyas pressed Cary’s hand, and then, — 

‘ And here’s my broadside next, men. I’ll go nowhere, and 
do nothing without the advice of Salvation Yeo and Robert 
Drew ; and if any man in the ship knows better than these two, 
let him up, and we’ll give him a hearing. Eh, Pelicans ? ’ 
There was a grunt of approbation from the Pelicans ; and 
Amyas returned to the charge. 

‘ We have five shot between wind and water, and one some- 
where below. Can we face a gale of wind in that state, or can 
we not ? ’ 

Silence. 

‘ Can we get home with a leak in our bottom ? ’ 

Silence. 

‘ Then what can we do bukrun inshore, and take our chance ? 
Speak ! It’s a coward’s trick to do nothing, because what we 
must do is not pleasant. Will you be like children, that would 
sooner die than take nasty physic, or will you not ? ’ 

Silence still. 

‘ Come along now ! Here’s the wind again round with the 
sun, and up to the north-west. In with her ! ’ 

Sulkily enough, but unable to deny the necessity, the men 
set to work, and the vessel’s head was put toward the land ; 
but when she began to slip through the water, the leak increased 
so fast, that they were kept hard at work at the pumps for the 
rest of the afternoon. 

The current had by this time brought them abreast of the 
bay of Higucrote ; and, luckily for them, safe out of the short 
heavy swell which it causes round Cape Codera. Looking 
32 


374 


SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS 


inland, they had now to the south-west that noble headland 
backed by the Caracca mountains, range on range, up to the 
Silla and the Neguatar ; while, right ahead of them to the 
south, the shore sank suddenly into a low line of mangrove- 
wood, backed by primaeval forest. As they ran inward, all 
eyes were strained greedily to find some opening in the man- 
grove belt : but none was to be seen for some time. The lead 
was kept going; and every fresh heave announced shallower 
water. 

‘ We shall have very shoal work otf those mangroves, Yeo,* 
said Amyas, ‘ I doubt whether we shall do aught now, unless 
we find a river’s mouth.’ 

‘ If the Lord thinks a river good for us. Sir, he’ll show us 
one,’ So on they went, keeping a south-east course, and at last 
an opening in the mangrove belt was hailed with a cheer from 
the- older hands, though the majority shrugged their shoulders, 
as men going open-eyed to destruction. 

Off the mouth they sent in Drew and Cary with a boat, and 
watched anxiously for an hour. The boat returned with a good 
report of two fathoms of water over the bar, impenetrable 
forests for two miles up, the river sixty yards broad, and no 
sign of man. The river’s banks were soft and sloping mud, fit 
for careening. 

‘ Safe quarters, Sir,’ said Yeo, privately, ‘ as far as Spaniards 
go. 1 hope in God it may be as safe from calentures and 
fevers.’ 

‘ Beggars must not be choosers,’ said Amyas. So in they 
went. 

They towed the ship 'up about half-a-mile to a point where 
she could not be seen from the seaward ; and moored her to the 
mangrove-stems. Amyas ordered a boat out, and went up the 
river himself to reconnoitre. He rowed some three miles, till 
the river narrowed suddenly, and was all but covered in by the 
interlacing boughs of mighty trees. There was no sign that 
man had been there since the making of the world. 

He dropped down the stream again, thoughtfully and sadly. 
How many years ago was it that he passed this river’s mouth ? 
Three days. And yet how much had passed in them ! Don 
Guzman found and lost — Rose found and lost — a great vic- 
tory gained, and yet lost — perhaps his ship lost — above all, 
his brother lost. 

Lost ! Oh God, how should he find his brother ? 

Some strange bird out of the woods made mournful answer 
— ‘ Never, never, never ! ’ 

How should he face his mother } 


AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS. 


S75 


‘ Never, never, never !’ wailed the bird again ; and Amyas 
smiled bitterly, and said ‘ Never ! ’ likewise. 

. The night mist began to steam and wreath upon the foul 
beer-colored stream. The loathly floor of liquid mud Jay bare 
beneath the mangrove-forest. Upon the endless web of inter- 
arching roots great purple crabs were crawling up and down. 
They would have supped with pleasure upon Amyas’s corpse ; 
perhaps they might sup on him after all ; for a heavy sickening 
grave-yard smell made his heart sink within him, and his stom- 
ach heave ; and his weary body, and more weary soul, gave 
themselves up helplessly to the depressing influence of that 
doleful place. The black bank of dingy leathern leaves above 
his hpad, the endless labyrinth of stems and withes (for every 
bough had lowered its own living cord to take fresh hold of the 
foul soil below) ; the web of roots, which stretched away inland 
till it was lost in the shades of evening — all seemed one horrid 
complicated trap for him and his ; and even where, here and 
there, he passed the mouth of a lagoon, there was no opening, 
no relief — nothing but the dark ring of mangroves, and here 
and there an isolated group of large and small, parents and 
children, breeding and spreading, as if in hideous haste to choke 
out air and sky. Wailing sadly, sad-colored rnangrove-hens 
ran off across the mud into the dreary dark. The hoarse night- 
raven, hid among the roots, startled the voyagers with a sudden 
shout, and then all was again silent as a grave. The loathly 
alligators, lounging in the slime, lifted their horny eyelids lazily, 
and leered upon him as he passed with stupid savageness.. 
Lines of tall herons stood dimly in the growing gloom, like 
white fantastic ghosts watching the passage of the doomed boat. 
All was foul, sullen, weird as witches’ dream. If Amyas had 
seen a crew of skeletons glide down the stream behind him, 
with Satan standing at the helm, he would have scarcely been 
surprised. What fitter craft could haunt that Stygian flood ? 

That night every man of the boat’s crew, save Amyas, were 
down with raging fever; before ten the next morning, five more 
men were taken, and others sickening fast. 


376 


HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 


CHAPTER XXI. 

HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION UNDER THE TREE 
AT HIGHER OTE. 

* Follow thee ? Follow thee? Wha wad na follow thee ? * 

Lang hast thou looed and trusted us fairly.’ 

Amyas would have certainly taken the yellow fever, but for 
one reason, which he himself gave to Cary. He had no time 
to be sick while his men were sick ; a valid and sufficient rea- 
son (as many a noble soul in the Crimea has known too well), 
as long as the excitement of work is present : but too apt to 
fail the hero, and to let him sink into the pit which he has so 
often overleapt, the moment that his work is done. 

He called a council of war, or rather a sanitary commission, 
the next morning ; for he was fairly at his wits’ end. The men 
were panic-stricken, ready to mutiny : Amyas told them that he 
could not see any possible good which could accrue to them by 
killing him, or — (for there were two sides to every question) 
— being killed by him ; and then went below to consult. The 
doctor talked mere science, or non-science, about humors, com- 
plexions, and animal spirits. Jack Brimblecombe,*mere pulpit, 
about its being the visitation of God. Cary, mere despair, 
though he jested over it with a smile. Yeo, mere stoic fatalism, 
though he quoted Scripture to back the same. Drew, the mas- 
ter, had nothing to say. His ‘ business was to sail the ship, and 
not to cure calentures.’ 

Whereon, Amyas clutched his locks, according to custom ; 
and at last broke forth, — 

‘ Doctor ! a fig for your humors and complexions ! Can you 
cure a man’s humors, or change his complexion ? Can an 
Ethiopian change his skin, or a leopard his spots .? Don’t 
shove off your ignorance on God, Sir. I ask you what’s the 
reason of this sickness, and you don’t know. Jack Brimble- 
combe, don’t talk to me about\pod’s visitation ; this looks much 
more like the devil’s visitation, to my mind. We are doing 
God’'s work, Sir John, and he is not likely to hinder us. So 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


377 


down with the devil, say I. Cary, laughing killed the cat, but 
it won’t cure a Christian. Yeo, when an angel tells me that it’s 
God’s will that we should all die like dogs in a ditch. I’ll call 
this God’s will ; but not before. Drew, you say your business 
is to sail the ship ; then sail her out of this infernal poison-trap, 
this very morning, if you can, which you can’t. The mischief’s 
in the air, and nowhere else. I felt it run through me coming 
down last night, and smelt it like any sewer ; and if it was not 
in the air, why was my boat’s crew taken first, tell me that ? ’ 

There was no answer. 

‘ Then I’ll tell you why they were taken first ; because the 
mist when we came through it, only rose five or six feet above 
the stream, and we were in it, while you on board were above 
it. And those that were taken on board this morning, every 
one of them, slept on the main-deck, and every one of them, 
too, was in fear of the fever, whereby I judge two things, — 
keep as high as you can, and fear nothing but God, and we’re 
all safe yet.* 

‘ But the fog was up to our round-tops at sunrise this morn- 
ing,’ said Cary. 

‘ I know it ; but we who were on the half-deck were not in it 
so long as those below, and that may have made the difference, 
let alone our having free air. Beside, I suspect the heat in the 
evening draws the poison out more, and that when it gets cold 
toward morning, the venom of it goes off somehow.’ 

How it went ofFAmyas could not tell (right in his facts as he 
was), for nobody on earth knew, I suppose, at that day ; and it 
was not till nearly two centuries of fatal experience, that the 
settlers in America discovered the simple laws of these epi- 
demics, which now every child knows, or ought to know. But 
common sense was on his side ; and Yeo rose and spoke, — 

‘ As I have said before, many a time, the Lord has sent us a 
very young Daniel forjudge. I remember now to have heard 
the Spaniards say, how these calentures lay alway in the low 
ground, and never came more than a few hundred feet above 
the sea.’ • 

‘ Let us go up those few hundred feet, then.’ 

Every man looked at Amyas, and then at his neighbor. 

‘ Gentlemen, “ Look the devil straight in the face, if you 
would hit him in the right place.” We cannot get the ship to 
sea as she is ; and if we could, we cannot go home empty- 
handed ; and w'e surely cannot stay here to die of fever. We 
must leave the ship and go inland.’ 

‘ Inland ? ’ answered every voice but Yeo’s. 

‘ Up those hundred feet which Yeo talks of. Up to the 
32 * 


378 


HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 


mountains ; stockade a camp, and get our sick and provisions 
thither — ’ 

‘ And what next ? ’ 

‘ And when we are recruited, march over the mountains, and 
surprise St. Jago de Leon.’ 

Cary swore a great oath. * Amyas ! you are a daring'fel- 
low ! ’ 

‘ Not a bit. It’s the plain path of prudence.’ 

‘ So it is, Sir,’ said old Yeo, ‘ and 1 follow you in it.’ 

‘And so do I,’ squeaked Jack Brimblecombe. 

‘ Nay, then. Jack, thou shalt not outrun me. So I^say yes, 
too,’ quoth Cary. 

‘ Mr. Drew ? ’ 

‘ At your service. Sir, to live or die. I know nought about 
stockading; but Sir Francis would have given the same counsel, 
I verily believe, if he had been in your place.’ 

‘ Then tell the men that we start in an hour’s time. Win 
over the Pelicans, Yeo and Drew, and the rest must follow, like 
sheep over a hedge.’ 

The Pelicans, and the liberated galley-slaves, joined the 
project at once; but the rest gave Amyas a stormy hour. The 
great question was, where were the hills ? In that dense man- 
grove thicket they could not see fifty yards before them. 

‘ The hills are not three miles to the south-west of you at 
this moment,’ said Amyas. ‘ I marked every shoulder of them 
as we ran in.’ 

‘ 1 suppose you meant to take us there .? ’ 

The question set a light to a train — and angry suspicions 
were blazing up one after another, but Amyas silenced them 
with a countermine. 

‘ Fools ! if I had not wit enough to look ahead a little further 
than you do, where would you be .? Are you mad as well as 
reckless, to rise against your own Captain because he has two 
strings to his bow .? Go my way, I say, or, as I live. I’ll blow 
up the ship and every soul on board, and save you the pain of 
rotting here by inches.’ 

The men knew that Amyas never said what he did not intend 
to do ; not that Amyas intended to do this, because he knew 
that the threat would be enough. So they agreed to go ; and 
were reassured by seeing that the old Pelican’s men turned to 
the work heartily and cheerfully. 

There is no use keeping the reader for five or six weary 
hours, under a broiling (or rather stewing) sun, stumbling over 
mangrove roots, hewing his way through thorny thickets, drag- 
ging sick men and provisions up mountain- steeps, amid disap- 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


379 


pointment, fatigue, murmurs, curses, snakes, mosquitoes, false 
alarms of Spaniards, and every misery, save cold, which flesh 
is heir to. Suffice it that by sunset that evening they had 
gained a level spot, a full thousand feet above the sea, backed 
by an inaccessible cliff which formed the upper shoulder of a 
mighty mountain, defended below by steep wooded slopes, and 
needing but the felling of a few trees to make it impregnable. 

Amyas settled the sick under the arched roots of an enormous 
cottonwood tree, and made a second journey to the ship, to 
bring up hammocks and blankets for them ; while Yeo’s wis- 
dom and courage were of inestimable value. He, as pioneer, 
had found the little brook up which they forced their way ; he 
had encouraged them to climb the cliffs over which it fell, 
arguing rightly that on its course they were sure to find some 
ground fit for encampment within the reach of w'ater ; he had 
supported Amyas, when again and again the weary crew 
entreated to -be dragged no further, and had gone back again 
a dozen times to cheer them upward ; while Cary, who brought 
up the rear, bullied and jeered on the stragglers who sat down 
and refused to move, drove back at the sword’s point more than 
one who was beating a retreat, carried their burthens for them, 
sang them songs on the halt ; in all things approving himself 
the gallant and hopeful soul which he had always been ; till 
Amyas, beside himself with joy at finding that the two men on 
whom he had counted most were utterly worthy of his trust, 
went so far as to whisper to them both, in confidence, that very 
night,— 

‘ Cortes burnt his ships when he landed. Why should not 
we ? ’ 

Yeo leapt upright; and then sat down again and whispered. 

‘ Do you say that, Captain ? ’Tis from above, then, that’s 
certain ; for its been hanging on my mind too alt day.’ 

‘There’s no hurry,’ quoth Amyas ; ‘we must clear her out 
first, you know,’ while Cary sat silent and musing. Amyas had 
evidently more schemes in his head than he chose to tell. 

The men were too tired that evening to do much ; but ere 
the sun rose next morning Amyas had them hard at work for- 
tifying their position. It was, as I said, strong enough by 
nature, for though it was commanded by high cliffs on three 
sides, yet there was no chance of an enemy coming over the 
enormous mountain-range behind them, and still less chance 
that, if he came, he would discover them through the dense 
mass of trees which crowned the* cliff, and clothed the hills for 
a thousand feet above. The attack, if it took place, would come 
from below; and against that Amyas guarded by felling the 


380 


HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 


smaller trees, and laying them with their boughs outward over 
the crest of the slope, thus forming an abatis (as every one who 
has shot in thick cover knows to his cost) warranted to bring 
up in two steps, horse, .dog, or man. The trunks were sawn 
into logs, laid length-wise, and steadied by stakes and mould ; 
and three or four hours’ hard work finished a stockade which 
would defy anything but artillery. The work done, Amyas 
scrambled up into the boughs of the enormous ceiba-tree, and 
there sat inspecting his own handiwork, looking out far and 
wide over the forest-covered plains and the blue sea beyond, 
and thinking in his simple straight-forward way of what was to 
be done next. 

To stay there long was impossible ; to avenge himself upon 
La Guayra was impossible; to go until he had found out whether 
Frank was alive or dead seemed at first equally impossible. 
But were Brimblecombe, Cary, and those eighty men, to be 
sacrificed a second time to his private interest .f* . Amyas wept 
with rage, and then wept again with earnest, honest prayer, be- 
fore he could make up his mind. But he made it up. There 
were a hundred- chances to one that Frank was dead ; and if 
not, he was equally past their help ; for he was — Amyas knew 
that too ‘well — by this time in the hands of the Inquisition. 
Who could lift him from that pit ? Not Amyas at least ! And 
crying aloud in his agony, ‘ God help him ! for I cannot ! ’ 
Amyas made up his mind to move. But whither? Many an 
hour he thought and thought alone, there in his airy nest ; and 
at last he went down, calm and cheerful, and drew Cary and 
Yeo aside. They could not, he said, refit the ship without 
dying of fever during the process ; an assertion which neither 
of his hearers was bold enough to deny. Even if they refitted 
her, they would be pretty certain to have to fight the Spaniards 
again; for it was impossible to doubt the Indian’s story, that 
they had been forwarned of the Rose’s coming, or to doubt 
either,, that Eustace had been the traitor. 

‘Let us try Saint Jago, then ; sack it, come down on La 
Guayra in the rear, take a ship there, and so get home.’ 

‘ Nay, Will. If they have strengthened themselves against 
us at La Guayra, where they had little to lose, surely they 
have done so at Saint Jago, where they have much. 1 hear 
the town is large, though new; and, besides, how can we get 
over these mountains without a guide ? ’ 

‘ Or with one ? ’ said Cary, with a sigh, looking up at the 
vast walls of wood and rock* which rose range on range for 
miles. ‘ But it is strange to find you, at least, throwing cold 
water on a daring plot.’ 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


381 


‘ What if I had a still more daring one ? Did you ever hear 
of the golden city of Manoa ? ’ 

\eo laughed a grim but joyful laugh. ‘ I have, Sir; and so 
have the old hands from the Pelican and the Jesus of Lubec, I 
doubt not.’ 

‘So much the better;’ and Amyas began to tell Cary all 
which he had learnt from the Spaniard, while Yeo capped every 
word thereof with rumors and traditions of his own gathering. 
Cary sat half aghast as the huge phantasmagoria unfolded itself 
before his dazzled eyes ; and at last, — 

‘ So that was why you wanted to burn the ship ! Well, after 
all, nobody needs me at home, and one less at table won’t be 
missed. So you want to play Cortes, eh ? ’ 

‘ We shall never need to play Cortes (who was not such a bad 
fellow after all. Will), because we shall have no such cannibals 
fiends’ tyranny to rid the earth of, as he had. And I trust we 
shall fear God enough not to play Pizarro.’ 

So the conversation dropped for the time ; but none of them 
forgot it. 

In that mountain-nook the party spent some ten days and 
more. Several of the sick men died, some from the fever 
superadded to their wounds ; some, probably, from having been 
bled by the surgeon ; the others mended steadily, by the help of 
certain herbs which Yeo administered, much to the disgust of 
the doctor, who, of course, wanted to bleed the poor fellows all 
round, and was all but mutinous when Amyas stayed his hand. 
In the meanwhile, by dint of daily trips to the ship, provisions 
were plentiful enough, — beside the raccoons, monkeys and other 
small animals, which Yeo and the veterans of Hawkins’ crew 
knew how to catch, and the fruit and vegetables, above all, the 
delicious mountain-cabbage of the Areca palm, and the fresh 
milk of the cow-tree, which they brought in daily, paying well 
thereby for the hospitality they received. 

All day long a careful watch was kept among the branches 
of the mighty ceiba-tree. And what a tree that was ! The 
hugest English oak would have seemed a stunted bush beside 
it. Borne up on roots, or rather walls, of twisted board, some 
twelve feet high, between which the whole crew, their ammu- 
■ nitions and provisions were housed roomily, rose the enor- 
mous trunk full forty feet in girth, towering like some tall 
light-house, smooth for a hundred feet, then crowned with 
boughs, each of which was a stately tree, whose topmost twigs 
were full two hundred and fifty feet from the ground. And 
yet it was easy for the sailors to ascend ; so many natural 
ropes had kind Nature lowered for their use, in the smooth 


3S2 


HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 


lianes which hung to the very earth, often without a knot or 
leaf. Once in the tree, you were within a new world, suspended 
between heaven and earth, and, as Cary said, no wonder if, 
like Jack when he climbed the magic bean-stalk, you had 
found a castle, a giant, and a few acres of well-stocked park, 
packed away somewhere amid that labyrinth of timber. Flower 
gardens at least were there in plenty ; for every limb was cov- 
ered with pendent cactuses, gorgeous orchises, and wild pines ; 
and while one-half the tree was clothed in rich foliage, the other 
half, utterly leafless, bore on every twig brilliant yellow flowers, 
around which humming-birds whirred all day long. Parrots 
peeped in and out of every cranny, while, within the airy wood- 
land, brilliant lizards basked like living gems upon the bark, 
gaudy finched flitted and chirruped, butterflies of every size and 
color hovered over the topmost twigs, innumerable insects 
hummed from morn till eve ; and when the sun went down, 
tree-toads came out to snore and croak till dawn. There was 
more life round that one tree than in a whole square mile of 
English soil. 

And Amyas, as he lounged among the branches, felt at mo- 
ments as if he would be content to stay there for ever, and feed 
his eyes and ears with all its wonders — and then started sighing 
from his dream, as he recollected that a few days must bring 
the foe upon them, and force him to decide upon some scheme 
at which the bravest heart might falter without shame. So there 
he sat (for he often took the scout’s place himself), looking out 
over the fantastic tropic forest at his feet, and the flat mangrove- 
swamps below, and the wide sheet of foam-flecked blue ; and 
yet no sail appeared ; and the men, as their fear of fever sub- 
sided, began to ask when they would go down and refit the ship, 
and Amyas put them off as best he could, till one noon he saw 
slipping along the shore from the westward, a large ship under 
easy sail, and recognized in her, or thought he did so, the ship 
which they had passed upon their way. 

If it was she, she must have run past them to La Guayra in 
the night, and have now returned, perhaps, to search for them 
along the coast. 

She crept along slowly. He was in hopes that she might 
pass the river’s mouth ; but no. She lay to close to the shore ; 
and, after awhile, Amyas saw two boats pull in from her, and 
vanish behind the mangroves. 

Sliding down a liane, he told what he had seen. The men, 
tired of inactivity, received the news with a shout of joy, and 
set to work to make all ready for their guests. Four brass 
swivels, which they had brought up, were mounted, fixed in 


AT HIGCJEROTE. 


383 


logs so as to command the path ; the musketeers and archers 
clustered round them with their tackle ready, and half-a-dozen 
good marksmen volunteered into the cotton-tree with their 
arquebuses, as a post whence ‘ a man mighthave very pretty 
shooting.’ Prayers followed, as a matter of course, and dinner 
as a matter of course also ; but two weary hours passed before 
there was any sign of the Spaniards. • . 

Presently a wreath of white smoke curled up from the swamp, 
and then the report of a caliver. Then, amid the growls of the 
English, the Spanish flag ran up above the trees, and floated — 
horrible to behold — at the mast-head of the Rose. They were 
signalling the ship for more hands; and, in effect, a third boat 
soon pushed off and vanished into the forest. 

' Another hour, during which the men had thoroughly lost their 
temper, but not-their hearts, by waiting; and talked so loud, 
and strode up and down so wildly, that Amyas had to warn them 
that there was no need to betray themselves ; that the Spaniards 
might not find them after all ; that they might pass the stockade 
close without seeing it; that, unless they hit off the track at 
i once, they would probably return to their ship for the present ; 
and exacted a promise from them that they would be perfectly 
silent till he gave the word to fire. 

Which wise commands had scarcely passed his lips, when, in 
the path below, glanced the head-piece of a Spanish soldier, 
and then another and another. 

‘ Fools ! ’ whispered Amyas to Cary ; ‘ they are coming up in 
single file, rushing on their own death. Lie close, men ! ’ 

‘ The path was so narrow that two could seldom come up 
abreast, and so steep that the enemy had much ado to struggle 
and stumble upwards. The men seemed half unwilling to pro- 
ceed, and hung back more than once ; but Amyas could hear 
' an authoritative voice behind, and presently there emerged to 
the front, sword in hand, a figure at which Amyas and Cary 
both started. 

‘ Is it he ? ’ 

‘ Surely I know those legs among a thousand, though they are 
in armor.’ 

‘It is my turn for him, now, Cary, remember! Silence, 
silence, men ! ’ 

The Spaniards seemed to feel that they were leading a for- 
lorn hope. Don Guzman (for there was little doubt that it w'as 
I he) had much ado to get them on at all. 

‘ The fellows have heard how gently we handled the Guayra 
^ squadron,’ whispers Cary, ‘and have no wish to become fellow- 
martyrs with the captain of the Madre Dolorosa.’ 


384 HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 

At last the Spaniards get up the deep slope to within forty 
yards of the stockade, and pause, suspecting a trap, and puz- 
zled by the complete silence. Amyas leaps on the top of it, a 
white flag in his hand ; but his heart beat so fiercely at the 
sight of that hated figure, that he can hardly get out the 
words, — 

‘ Don Guzman, the quarrel is between you and me, not be- 
tween your men and mine. I would have sent in a challenge to 
you at La Guayra, but you were away ; I challenge you now 
to single combat.’ 

‘ Lutheran dog, I have a halter for you, but no sword ! As 
you served us at Smerwick, we will serve you now. Pirate and 
ravisher ! you and yours shall share Oxenham’s fate, as you 
have copied his crimes, and learn what it is to set foot unbidden 
on the dominions of the King of Spain.’ 

‘ The devil take you and the King of Spain together,’ shouts 
Amyas, laughing loudly. ‘ This ground belongs to him no 
more than it does to me, but to the Queen Elizabeth, in whose 
name I have taken as lawful possession of it as you ever did of 
Caraccas. Fire, men ! and God defend the right ! ’ 

Both parties obeyed the order; Amyas dropped down behind 
the stockade in time to let a caliver-bullet whistle over his head ; 
and the Spaniards recoiled as the narrow face of the stockade 
burst into one blaze of musketry and swivels, raking their long 
array from front to rear. 

The front ranks fell over each other in heaps ; the rear ones 
turned and ran; overtaken, nevertheless, by the English bul- 
lets and arrows, which tumbled them headlong down the steep 
path. 

‘ Out, men, and charge them. See ! the Don is running like 
the rest!’ And scrambling over the abatis, Amyas and about 
thirty followed them fast ; for he had hope of learning from 
some prisoner his brother’s fate. 

Amyas was unjust in his last words. Don Guzman, as if by 
miracle, had been only slightly wounded ; and seeing his men 
run, had rushed back and tried to rally them, but was borne 
away by the fugitives. 

However, the Spaniards were out of sight among the thick 
bushes before the English could overtake them ; and Amyas 
afraid lest they should rally and surround his small party, with- 
drew sorely against his will, and found in the pathway fourteen 
Spaniards, but all dead. For one of the wounded, with more 
courage than wisdom, had fired on the English as he lay ; and 
Amyas’s men, whose blood was maddened both by their des- 
perate situation, and the frightful stories of the rescued galley- 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


385 


slaves, had killed them all before their captain could stop 
them. 

‘ Are you mad ? ’ cries Amy as, as he strikes up one fellow’s 
sword. ‘ Will you kill an Indian ? ’ 

And he drags out of the bushes an Indian lad of sixteen, 
who, slightly wounded, is crawling away like a copper snake 
along the ground. 

‘ The black vermin has sent an arrow through my leg ; and 
poisoned, too, most like.’ 

‘ God grant not ; but an Indian is worth his weight in gold to 
us now,’ said Amyas, tucking his prize under his arm like a 
bundle. The lad, as soon as he saw there was no escape, 
resigned himself to his fate with true Indian stoicism, was 
brought in, and treated kindly enough, but refused to eat. For 
which, after much questioning, he gave as a reason, that he 
would make them kill him at once ; for fat him they should 
not ; and gradually gave them to understand that the English 
always (so at least the Spaniards said) fatted and eat their pris- 
oners like the Caribs ; and till he saw them go out and bury the 
bodies of the Spaniards, nothing would persuade him that the 
corpses were not to be cooked for supper. 

However, kind words, kind looks, and the present of that 
inestimable treasure — a knife, brought him to reason; and 
he told Amyas that he belonged to a Spaniard who had an 
‘ encomienda ’ of Indians some fifteen miles to the south-west; 
that he had fled from his master, and lived by hunting for some 
months past ; and having seen the ship were she lay moored 
and boarded her in hope of plunder, had been surprised therein 
by the Spaniards, and forced by threats to go with them as a 
guide in their search for the English. But now came a part of 
his story which filled the soul of Amyas with delight. He was 
an Indian of the Llanos, or great savannahs, which lay to the 
southward beyond the mountains, and had actually been upon 
the Orinoco. He had been stolen as a boy by some Spaniards, 
who had gone down (as was the fashion of the Jesuits even as 
late as 1790) for the pious purpose of converting the savages 
by the simple process of catching, baptizing, and making ser- 
vants of those whom they could carry off, and murdering those 
who resisted their gentle method of salvation. Did he know 
the way back again.? Who could ask such a question of an 
Indian .? And the lad’s black eyes flashed fire, as Amyas 
offered him liberty and iron enough for a dozen Indians, if ho 
would lead them through the passes of the mountains, and 
southward to the mighty river, where lay their golden hopes. 
Hernando de Scrpa, Amyas knew, had tried the same course 
33 


386 


HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 


which was supposed to be about one hundred and twenty 
leagues, and failed, being overthrown utterly by the Wikiri 
Indians ; but Amyas knew enough of the Spaniards’ brutal 
method of treating those Indians, to be pretty sure that they 
had brought that catastrophe upon themselves, and that he 
might avoid it well enough by that common justice and mercy 
toward the savages which he had learned from his incompara- 
ble tutor, Francis Drake. 

Now was the time to speak ; and, assembling his men around 
him, Amyas opened his whole heart, simply and manfully. 
This was their only hope of safety. Some of them had mur- 
mured that they should perish like John Oxenham’s crew. This 
plan was rather the only way to avoid perishing like them. 
Don Guzman would certainly return to seek them ; and not 
only he, but land forces from St. Jago. liven if the stockade 
was not forced, they would be soon starved out ; why not move 
at once ere the Spaniards could return, and begin a blockade ? 
As for taking St. Jago, it was impossible. The treasure would 
all be safely hidden, and the town well prepared to meet them. 
If they wanted gold and glory, they must seek it elsewhere. 
Neither was there any use in marching along the coast, and 
trying the ports : ships could outstrip them, and the country 
was already warned. There was but this one chance ; and on 
it Amyas, the first and last time in his life, waxed eloquent, and 
set forth the glory of the enterprise, the service to the Queen, 
the salvation of heathens, and the certainty that, if successful, 
they should win honor and wealth, and everlasting fame, beyond 
that of Cortes or Pizarro, till the men, sulky at first, warmed 
every moment ; and one old Pelican broke out with, — 

‘ Yes, Sir ; we didn’t go round the world with you for nought ; 
and watched your works and ways, which was always those of 
a gentleman, as you are, — who spoke a word for a poor fellow 
when he was in a scrape, and saw all you ought to see, and 
nought that you ought not. And we’ll follow you. Sir, all alone 
to ourselves ; and let those that know you worse follow after 
when they’re come to their right mind.’ 

Man after man capped this brave speech ; the minority, who, 
if they liked little to go, liked still less to be left behind, gave 
in their consent perforce ; and, to make a long story short, 
Amyas conquered, and the plan was accepted. 

‘ This,’ said Amyas, ‘ is indeed the proudest day of my life ! 
I have lost one brother, but I have gained fourscore. God do 
so to me, and more also, if I do not deal with you according to 
the trust which you have put in me this day ! ’ 

We, I suppose, are to believe that we have a right to laugh 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


387 


at Amyas’s scheme as frantic and chimerical. It is easy to 
amuse ourselves with the premises, after the conclusion has 
been found for us. We know, now, that he was mistaken : but 
we have not discovered his mistake for ourselves, and have no 
right to plume ourselves on other men’s discoveries. Had we 
lived in Amyas’s days, we should have belonged either to the 
many wise men who believed as he did, or to the many foolish 
men, who not only sneered at the story of Manoa, but at a 
hundred other stories, which we now know to be true. Colum- 
bus was laughed at : but he found a new world, nevertheless. 
Cortes was laughed at : but he found Mexico. Pizarro : but 
he found Peru. I ask any fair reader of those two charming 
books, Mr. Prescott’s Conquest of Mexico and his Conquest of 
Peru, whether the true wonders in them described do not outdo 
all the false wonders of Manoa. 

But what reason was there to think them false One quarter, 
perhaps, of America had been explored, and yet in that quarter 
two empires had been already found, in a state of mechanical, 
military, and agricultural civilization, superior, in many things, 
to any nation of Europe. Was it not most rational to suppose 
that in the remaining three-quarters similar empires existed ? 
If a second Mexico had been discovered in the mountains of 
Parima, and a second Peru in those of Brazil, what right would 
any man have had to wonder ? As for the gold legends, noth- 
ing was told of Manoa which had not been seen in Peru and 
Mexico by the bodily eyes of men then living. Why should 
not the rocks of Guiana have been as full of the precious 
metals (we do not know yet that they are not) as the rocks of 
Peru and Mexico were known to be ? Even the details of the 
story, its standing on a lake, for instance, bore a probability 
with them. Mexico actually stood in the centre of a lake — 
why should not Manoa ? The Peruvian worship centred round 
a sacred lake — why not that of Manoa ? Pizarro and Cortes, 
again, were led on to their desperate enterprises by the sight of 
small quantities of gold among savages, who told them of a 
civilized gold country near at hand ; and they found that those 
savages spoke truth. Why was the unanimous report of the 
Carib tribes of the Orinoco to be disbelieved, when they told a 
similar tale ? Sir Richard Schomburgk’s admirable preface to 
Raleigh’s Guiana proves, surely, that the Indians themselves 
were deceived, as well as deceivers. It was known, again, that 
vast quantities of the Peruvian treasure had been concealed by 
the priests, and that members of the Inca family had fled across 
the Andes, and held out against the Spaniards. Barely fifty 
years had elapsed since then ; — what more probable than that 


388 


HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 


this remnant of the Peruvian dynasty and treasure still existed ? 
Even the story of the Amazons, though it may serve Hume as 
a point for his ungenerous and untruthful attempt to make 
Raleigh out either fool or villain, has come from Spaniards, 
who had with their own eyes seen the Indian women fighting 
by their husbands’ sides, and from Indians, who asserted the 
existence of an Amazonian tribe. What right had Amyas, or 
any man, to disbelieve the story ? The existence of the Ama- 
zons in ancient Asia, and of their intercourse with Ale?fander 
the Great, was then an accredited part of history, which it 
would have been gratuitous impertinence to deny. And what 
if some stories connected these warlike women with the Em- 
peror of Manoa, and the capital itself? This generation ought 
surely to be the last to laugh at- such a story, at least as long as 
the Amazonian guards of the King of Dahomey continue to 
outvie the men in that relentless ferocity, with which they have 
subdued every neighboring tribe, save the Christians of Abbeo- 
kuta. In this case, as in a hundred more, fact not only outdoes, 
but justifies imagination ; and Amyas spoke common sense, 
when he said to his men that day, — 

‘ Let fools laugh and stay at home. Wise men dare and 
win. Saul went to look for his fathers asses, and found a 
kingdom; and Columbus, my men, was called a madman for 
only going to seek China, and never knew, they say, until his 
dying day, that he had found a whole new world instead of it. 
Find Manoa ? God only, who made all things, knows what 
we may find beside ! ’ 

So underneath that giant ceiba-tree, those valiant men, re- 
duced by battle and sickness to some eighty, swore a great 
oath, and kept that oath like men. To search for the golden 
city for two full years to come, whatever might befall ; to 
stand to each other for weal or woe ; to obey their officers to 
the death ; to murmur privately against no man, but bring all 
complaints to a council of war ; to use no profiine oaths, but 
serve God daily with prayer ; to take by violence from no 

man, save from their natural enemies the Spaniards ; to be 

civil and merciful to all savages, and chaste and courteous to 
all women ; to bring all booty and all food into the common 
stock, and observe to the utmost their faith with the adven- 
turers who had fitted out the ship ; and, finally, to march at 

sunrise the next morning toward the south, trusting in God to 

be their guide. 

‘It is a great oath, and a hard one,’ said Brimblecombe ; 
‘ but God will give us strength to keep it.’ And they knelt 
altogether and received the Holy Communion, and then rose to 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


389 


pack provisions and annmunition, and lay down again to sleep 
and to dream that they were sailing home up Torridge stream 

- as Cavendish, returning from round the world, did actually 
sail home up Thames but five years afterwards, — ‘ with mari- 
ners and soldiers clothed in silk, with sails of damask, and 
topsails of cloth of gold, and the richest prize which ever was 
brought at one time unto English shores.* 

The Cross stands upright in the southern sky. It is the 
middle of the night. Cary and Yeo glide silently up the hill 
and into the camp, and whisper to Amyas that they have done 
the deed. The sleepers are awakened, and the train sets forth. 

Upward and southward ever ; but whither, who can tell ? 
They hardly think of the whither; but go like sleep-walkers, 
shaken out of one land of dreams, only to find themselves in 
another and stranger one. All around is fantastic and un- 
earthly ; now each man starts as he sees the figures of his 
fellows, clothed from head to foot in golden filagree ; looks up, 
and sees the yellow moonlight through the fronds of the huge 
tree-ferns overhead, as through a cloud of glittering lace. Now 
they are hewing their way through a thicket of enormous flags ; 
now through bamboos forty feet high ; now they are stumbling 
over boulders, waist-deep, in cushions of club-moss ; now they 
are struggling through shrubberies of heaths and rhododendrons, 
and woolly incense-trees, where every leaf, as they brush past, 
dashes some fresh scent into their faces, and 

* The winds, with musky wing, 

About the cedarn alleys fling 
V Nard and cassia’s balmy smells.* 

Now they open upon some craggy brow, from whence they 
can see far below an ocean of soft cloud, whose silver billows, 
girdled by the mountain sides, hide the lowland from their 
sight. And from beneath the cloud strange voices rise : the 
screams of thousand night-birds, and wild howls, which they 
used at first to fancy were the cries of ravenous beasts, till they 
found them to proceed from nothing fiercer than an ape. But 
what is that deeper note, like a series of muffled explosions — 
arquebuses fired within some subterranean cavern, — the heavy 
pulse of which rolls up through the depths of the unseen forest.? 
They hear it now for the first time, but they will hear it many 
a time again ; and the Indian lad is hushed and cowers close to 
them, and then takes heart, as he looks upon their swords and 
arquebuses ; for that is the roar of the jaguar, ‘ seeking his 
meat from God.’ 


33 * 


390 HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION 

But what is that glare away to the northward ? The yellow 
moon is ringed with gay rainbows ; but that light is far too red 
to be the reflection of any beams of hers. Now through the 
cloud rises a column of black and lurid smoke ; the fog clears 
away right and left around it, and shows beneath a mighty 

The men look at each other with questioning eyes, each half 
suspecting, and yet not daring to confess their own suspicions ; 
and Amyas whispers to Yeo, — 

‘ You took care to flood the powder ? ’ 

‘ Ay, ay. Sir, and to unload the ordnance, too. No use in 
making a noise to tell the Spaniards our whereabouts.’ 

Yes ; that glare rises from the good ship Rose. Amyas, like 
Cortes of old, has burnt his ship, and retreat is now impossible. 
Forward into the unknown abyss of the New World, and God 
be with them as they go ! 

The Indian knows a cunning path : it winds along the highest 
ridges of the mountains ; but the travelling is far more open and 
easy. 

They have passed the head of a valley which leads down to 
St. Jago. Beneath that long shining river of mist, which ends 
at the foot of the Great Silla, lies (so says the Indian lad) the 
rich capital of Venezuela ; and beyond, the gold mines of Los 
Teques and Baruta, which first attracted the founder Diego de 
Losada ; and many a longing eye is turned towards it as they 
pass the saddle at the valley head ; but the attempt is hopeless ; 
they turn again to the left, and so down towards the rancho, 
taking care (so the prudent Amyas had commanded) to break 
down, after crossing, the frail rope bridge which spans each 
torrent and ravine. 

They are at the rancho long before daybreak, and have se- 
cured there, not only fourteen mules, but eight or nine Indians 
stolen from off the Llanos, like their guide, who are glad 
enough to escape from their tyrants by taking service with 
them. And now southward and away, with lightened shoulders 
and hearts ; for they are all but safe from pursuit. The broken 
bridges prevent the news of their raid reaching St. Jago until 
nightfall ; and, in the meanwhile, Don Guzman returns to the 
river-mouth the next day, to find the ship a blackened wreck, 
and the camp empty ; follows their trail over the hills till he is 
stopped by a broken bridge; surmounts that difficulty, and 
meets a second ; his men are worn out with heat, and a little 
afraid of stumbling on the heretic desperadoes, and he returns 
by land to St. Jago ; and when he arrives there, has news from 
home which gives him other things to think of than following 


AT HIGUEROTE. 


391 


those mad EngHshmen, who have vanished into the wildernesss. 
* What need, after all, to follow them ? ’ asked the Spaniards of 
each other. ‘ Blinded by the devil whom they serve, they rush 
on in search of certain death, as many a larger company has 
before them, and they will find it ; and will trouble La Guayra 
no more for ever.’ ‘ Lutheran dogs and enemies of God,’ said 
Don Guzman to his soldiers, ‘ they will leave their bones to 
whiten on the Llanos, as may every heretic who sets foot on 
Spanish soil ! ’ * 

Will they do so, Don Guzman.? Or wilt thou and Amyas 
meet again upon a mightier battle-fiold, to learn a lesson which 
neither of you yet have learned .? 








392 


THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES. 


My next chapter is perhaps too sad ; it shall be at least as 
short as I can make it; but it was needful to be written, that 
readers may judge fairly for themselves what sort of enemies 
the English nation had to face in those stern days. 

Three weeks have passed, and the scene is shifted to a long 
low range of cells in a dark corridor, in the city of Carthagena. 
The door of one is open : and within stands two cloaked figures, 
one of whom we know. It is Eustace Leigh. The other is a 
familiar of the Holy Office. 

He holds in his hand a lamp, from which the light falls on a 
bed of straw, and bn the sleeping figure of a man. The high 
white brow, the pale and delicate features — them, too, we know, 
for they are those of Frank. Saved half-dead from the fury of 
the savage negroes, he has been reserved for the more delicate 
cruelty of civilized and Christian men. He underwent the 
question but this afternoon ; and now Eustace, his betrayer, is 
come to persuade him — or to entrap him F Eustace himself 
hardly knows whether of the two. 

And yet he would give his life to save his cousin. His life ? 
He has long since ceased to care for that. He has done what 
he has done, because it is his duty ; and now he is to do his 
duty once more, and wake the sleeper, and argue, coax, threaten 
him into recantation while ‘ his heart is still tender from the 
torture,’ so Eustace’s employers phrase it. 

And yet how calmly he is sleeping ! Is it but a freak of the 
lamplight, or is there a smile upon his lips? Eustace takes the 
lamp and bends over him to see ; and as ^he bends he hears 
Frank whispering in his dreams his mother’s name, and a name 
higher and holier still. 

Eustace cannot find the heart to wake him. 

‘ Let him rest,’ whispers he to his companion. ‘ After all, I 
fear my words will be of little use.’ 


THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES. 


393 


‘ I fear so too, Sir. Never did I behold a more obdurate 
heretic. He did not scruple to scoff openly at their holinesses.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ said Eustace ; ‘ great is the pravity of the human 
heart, and the power of Satan ! Let us go for the present.’ 

‘ Where is she ? ’ 

‘ The elder sorceress, or the younger ? ’ 

‘ The younger — the — ’ 

‘ The Senora de Soto ? Ah, poor thing ! One could be sorry 
for her, were she not a heretic.’ And the man eyed Eustace 
keenly, and then quietly added, ‘ She is at present with the 
notary ; to the benefit of her soul, I trust — ’ 

Eustace half-stopped, shuddering. He could hardly collect 
himself enough to gasp out an ‘ Amen.’ 

‘ Within there,’ said the man, pointing carelessly to a door as 
they went down the corridor. ‘ We can listen a moment, if you 
like ; but don’t betray me, Senor.’ 

Eustace knows well enough that the fellow is probably on the 
watch to betray him, if he shows any signs of compunction ; at 
least to report faithfully to his superiors the slightest expression 
of sympathy with a heretic ; but a horrible curiosity prevails 
over fear, and he pauses close to the fatal door. His face is all 
of a flame, his knees knock together, his ears are ringing, his 
heart bursting through his ribs, as he supports himself against 
the wall, hiding his convulsed face as well as he can from his 
companion. 

A man’s voice is plainly audible within ; low, but distinct. 
The notary is trying that old charge of witchcraft, which the 
Inquisitors, whether to justify themselves to their own conscien- 
ces, or to whiten their villany somewhat in the eyes of the mob, 
so often brought against their victims. And then Eustace’s 
heart sinks within him as he hears a woman’s voice reply, 
sharpened by indignation and agony, — 

‘ Witchcraft against Don Guzman ? What need of that, oh 
God ! what need ? ’ 

‘ You deny it then, Senora ? we are sorry for you ; but — ’ 

A confused choking murmur from the victim, mingled with 
words which might mean anything or nothing. 

‘ She has confessed ! ’ whispered Eustace ; ‘ Saints, 1 thank 
you ! — she — ’ 

A wail which rings through Eustace’s ears, and brain^ and 
heart ! He would have torn at the door to open it ; but his 
companion forces him away. Another, and another wail, while 
the wretched man hurries off, stopping his ears in vain against 
those piercing cries, which follow him, like avenging angels, 
through the dreadful vaults. 


394 


.THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES. 


He escaped in the fragrant open air, and the golden tropic 
moonlight, and a garden which might have served as a model 
for Eden ; but man’s hell followed into God’s heaven, and still 
those wails seemed to ring through his ears. 

‘ Oh, misery, misery, misery ! ’ murmured he to himself 
through grinding teeth ; ‘ and 1 have brought her to this ! I 
have had to bring her to it ! What else uould I ? Who dare 
blame me ? And yet what devilish sin can 1 have committed, 
that requires to be punished thus ? Was there no one to'be 
found but me ? No one ? And yet it may save her soul. It 
may bring her-to repentance ! ’ 

‘ It may, indeed ; for she is delicate, and cannot endure much. 
You ought to know as well as I, Senor, the merciful disposition 
of the Holy Office.’ 

‘ I know it, I know it, interrupted poor Eustace, trembling 
now for himself. ‘ All in love — all in love. A paternal chas- 
tisement — ’ 

■ ‘ And the proofs of heresy are patent, beside the strong sus- 
picion of enchantment, and the known character of the elder 
sprceress. You yourself, you must remember, Senor, told us 
that she had been a notorious witch in England, before the 
Senora brought her hither as her attendant.’ 

‘ Of course she was ; of course. Yes ; there was no other 
course open. And though the flesh may be weak, Sir, in my 
case, yet none can have proved better to the Holy Office how 
willing is the spirit ! ’ 

And so Eustace departed ; and ere another sun had set, he 
had gone to the principal of the Jesuits ; told him his whole 
heart, or as much of it, poor wretch, as he dare tell himself ; 
and entreated to be allowed to finish his novitiate, and enter the 
order, on the understanding that he was to be sent at once back 
to Europe, or anywhere else ; ‘ Otherwise,’ as he said frankly, 
^ ‘ he should go mad, even if he were not mad already.’ The 
Jesuit who was a kindly man enough, went to the Holy Office, 
and settled all with the Inquisitors, recounting to them, to set 
him above all suspicion, Eustace’s past valiant services to the 
Church. His testimony was no longer needed ; he left Cartha- 
gena for Nombre.that very night, and sailed the next week I 
know not whither. 

I say, I know not whither. Eustace Leigh vanishes hence- 
forth from these pages. He may have ended as General of his 
Order. He may have worn out his years in some tropic forest, 
‘conquering the souls’ (including, of course, the bodies) of 
Indians ; he may have gone back to his old work in England, 
and been the very Ballard who was hanged and quartered three 


THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES.. 


395 


years afterwards for his share in Babington’s villanous conspi- 
racy : I know not. This book is a history of men ; of men’s 
virtues and sins, victories and defeats : and Eustace is a man no 
longer ; he is become a thing, a tool, a Jesuit ; which goes 
only where it is sent, and does good or evil indifferently as it is 
bid ; which, by an act of moral suicide, has lost its soul, in the 
hope of saving it : without a will, a conscience, a responsibility, 
(as it fancies), to God or man, but only to ‘ The Society.’ In 
a word, Eustace, as he says of himself, is ‘ dead.’ Twice dead, 
I fear. Let the dead bury their dead. We have no more con- 
cern with Eustace Leigh, 


393 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


V 

tv/ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 

* My mariners, 

Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me — 

Death closes all ; but something ere the end. 

Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 

Not unbecoming men that strove with gods ! ’ 

Tennyson’s Ulysses, 

Nearly three years are past and gone since that little band 
had knelt at even-song beneath the giant tree of Guayra — years 
of seeming blank, through which they are to be tracked only by 
scattered notes and mis-spelt names. Through untrodden hills 
and forests, over a space of some eight hundred miles in length 
by four hundred in breadth, they had been seeking for the 
Golden City, and they had sought in vain. They had sought it 
along the wooded banks of the Orinoco, and beyond the roaring 
foam-world of Maypures, and on the upper water's of the mighty 
Amazon. They had gone up the streams even into Peru itself^, 
and had trodden the cinchona groves of Loxa, ignorant, as all 
the world was then, of their healing virtues. They had seen 
the virgin snows of Chimborazo towering white above the thun- 
der-cloud, and the giant cone of Cotopaxi blackening in its sullen 
wrath, before the fiery streams rolled down its sides. Foiled in 
their search at the back of the Andes, they had turned east- 
ward once more, and plunged from the Alpine cliffs into ‘ the 
green and misty ocean of the Montana.’ Slowly and painfully 
they had worked their way northward again, along the eastern 
foot of the inland Cordillera, and now they were bivouacking, 
as it seems, upon one of the many feeders of the Meta, which 
flow down from the Suma Paz into the forest-covered plains. 
There they sat; their watch-fires glittering on the stream, 
beneath the shadow of enormous trees, Arnyas and Cary, 
Brimblecombe, Yeo and the Indian lad, who had followed them 
in all their wanderings, alive and well : but as far as ever from 
Manoa, and its fairy lake, and golden palaces, and all tha'^von- 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


397 


ders of the Indian’s tale. Again and again in their wanderings 
they had heard faint rumors of its existence, and started off in 
some fresh direction, to meet only a fresh disappointment, and 
hope deferred, which maketh sick the heart. 

There they sit at last — four-and-forty men out of the eighty- 
four who left the tree of Guayra : where are the rest ? 

* Their bones are scatter’d fiir and wide. 

By mount, by stream, and sea.’ 

Drew, the master, lies on the banks of the Rio Negro, and 
five brave fellows by him, slain in fight by the poisoned arrows 
of the Indians, in a vaiji attempt to penetrate the mountain- 
gorges of the Parima. Two more lie amid the valleys of the 
Andes, frozen to death by the fierce slaty hail which sweeps down 
from the condor’s eyrie ; four more were drowned at one of 
the rapids of the Orinoco ; five or six more wounded men are 
left behind at another rapid among friendly Indians, to be 
recovered when they can be : perhaps never. Fever, snakes, 
jaguars, alligators, cannibal fish, electric eels, have thinned their 
ranks month by month, and of their march through the pri- 
maeval wilderness no track remains, except those lonely graves. 

And there the survivors sit, beside the silent stream, beneath 
the tropic moon ; sun-dried and lean, but strong- and bold as 
ever, with the quiet fire of English courage burning undimmed 
in every- eye, and the genial smile of English mirth fresh on 
every lip; making a jest of danger, and a sport of toil, as 
cheerily as when they sailed over the bar of Bideford, in days 
which seem to belong to some ante-natal life. • Their beards 
have grown down upon their breasts ; their long hair is knotted 
on their heads, like women’s, to keep off the burning sunshine ; 
their leggings are of the skin of the delicate Guazo-puti deer ; 
their shirts are patched with Indian cotton web; the spoils of 
jaguar, puma', and ape hang from their shoulders. Their 
ammunition is long since spent, their muskets, spoilt by the 
perpetual vapor-bath of the steaming woods, are left behind as 
useless in a cave by some cataract of the Orinoco: but their 
swords are bright and terrible as ever ; and they carry bows of 
a strength which no Indian arm can bend, and arrows pointed 
with the remnants of their armor; many of them, too, are 
armed with the pocuna, or blow-gun of the Indians, _ — more 
deadly, because more silent, than the fire-arms which they have 
left behind them. So they have wandered, and so they will 
wander still, the lords of the forest and its beasts; terrible to 
all hostile Indians, but kindly just, and generous to all who will 
deal faithfully with them ; and many a smooth-chinncd Carib 

31 


398 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


and Ature, Solimo and Guahiba, recounts with wonder and 
admiration the righteousness of the bearded heroes, who pro- 
claimed themselves the deadly foes of the faithless and mur- 
derous Spaniard, and spoke to them of the great and good 
Queen beyond the seas, who would send her warriors to deliver 
arid avenge the oppressed Indian. 

The men are sleeping among the trees, some on the ground, 
and some in grass-hammocks, slung between the stems. All is 
silent, save the heavy plunge of the tapir in the river, as he tears 
up the water-weeds for his night’s repast. Sometimes, indeed, 
the jaguar, as he climbs from one tree-top to another after his 
prey, wakens the monkeys clustered on the boughs, and they 
again arouse the birds, and ten minutes of unearthly roars, 
howls, shrieks, and cacklings made the forest ring as if all 
Pandemonium had broke loose : but that soon dies away again; 
and, even while it lasts, it is too common a matter to awaken 
the sleepers, much less to interrupt the council of war which is 
going on beside the watch-fire, between the three adventurers 
and the faithful Yeo. A hundred times they have held such a 
council, and in vain ; and, for aught they know, this one will be 
as fruitless as those which have gone before it. Nevertheless, 
it is a more solemn one than usual ; for the two years during 
which they had agreed to search for Manoa are long past, and 
some new place must be determined on, unless they intend to 
spend the rest of their lives in that green wilderness. 

* Well,’ says Will Cary, taking his cigar out of his mouth, 
‘ at least we have got something out of those last Indians. It 
is a comfort to have a puff at tobacco once more, after three 
weeks’ fasting.’ 

‘ For me,’ said Jack Brimblecombe, ‘ Heaven forgive me ! 
but when I get the magical leaf between my teeth again, I feel 
tempted to sit as still as a chimney, and smoke till my dying 
day, without stirring hand or foot.’ 

‘ Then I shall forbid you tobacco. Master Parson :’ said 
Amyas ; ‘ for we must be up and away again to-morrow. We 
have been idling here three mortal days, and nothing done.’ 

‘ Shall we ever do anything ? I think the gold of Manoa is 
like the gold which lies where the rainbow touches the ground, 
always a field beyond you.’ 

Amyas was silent awhile, and so were the rest. There was 
no denying that their hopes were all but gone. In the immense 
circuit which they had made they had met with nothing but 
disappointment. 

‘ There is but one more chance,’ said he at length, ‘ and 
that is the mountains to the east of the Orinoco, where we 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


399 


failed the first time. The Incas may have moved on to them 
when they escaped.’ 

‘ VVhy not.? ’ said Cary; ‘they would so pUt all the forests, 
beside the Llanos and half-a-dozen great rivers, between them 
and those dogs of Spaniards.’ 

‘Shall we try it once more.?’ said Amyas. ‘This river 
ought to run into the Orinoco ; and once there, we are again at 
the very foot of the mountains. What say you, Yeo .? ’ 

‘ 1 cannot but mind, your worship, that when we came up 
the Orinoco, the Indians told us terrible stories of those moun- 
tains, how far they stretched, and how difficult they were to 
cross, by reason of the cliffs aloft, and the thick forests in the 
valleys. And have we not lost five good men there already .? ’ 

‘ What care we .? No forests can be thicker than those we 
have bored through already ; why, if one had had but a tail, 
like a monkey, for an extra warp, one might have gone a hun- 
dred miles on end along the tree-tops, and found it far pleasanter 
walking than tripping in withes, and being eaten up with creep- • 
ing things, from morn till night.’ 

‘ But remember, too,’ said Jack, ‘ how they told us to be- ^ 
ware of the Amazons.’ 

‘ What, Jack, afraid of a parcel of women .? ’ 

‘ Why not,’ said Jack. ‘ I wouldn’t run from a man, as you 
know: but a woman — it’s not natural, like. They must be 
witches, or devils. See how the Caribs feared them. And 
there were men there without necks, and with their eyes in 
their breasts, they said. Now how could a Christian tackle 
such customers as them .? ’ • 

‘ He couldn’t cut off their heads, that’s certain : but, I sup- 
pose, a poke in the ribs will do as much for them as for their 
neighbors.’ 

‘ Well,’ said Jack, ‘ if I fight, let me fight honest flesh and 
blood, that’s all, and none of th€se outlandish monsters. How , 
do you know but that they are invulnerable by Art-magic ? ’ 

‘ How do you know that they are .? And as for the Ama- 
zons,’ said Cary, ‘ woman’s woman, all the world over. I’ll 
bet that you may wheedle them round with a compliment or 
two, just as if they Were so many burgher’s wives. Pity I have 
not a court-suit, and a_ Spanish hat. I would have taken an 
orange in one hand, and a handkerchief in the other, gone all 
alone to them as ambassador, and been in a week as great with 
Queen Blackfacealinda as ever Raleigh is at Whitehall.’ 

‘ Gentlemen !’ said Yeo, ‘ where you go, I go ; and not only 
I, hut every man of us, 1 doubt not : but we have lost now half 
our company, and spent our ammunition ; so we are no better 


400 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


men, were it not for our swords, than these naked heathens 
around us. Now it was, as you all know, by the wonder and 
noise of their ordnance (let alone their horses, which is a break- 
neck beast I put no faith in), that both Cortes and Pizarro, 
those imps of Satan, made their golden conquests : with which 
if we could have astounded the people of Manoa — ’ 

‘ Having first found the said people,’ laughed Amyas. ‘ It 
is like the old fable. Every craftsman thinks his own trade the 
one pillar of the commonweal.’ 

‘ Well ! your worship,’ quoth Yeo, ‘ it may be, that, being a 
gunner, I overprize guns. But it don’t need slate and pencil 
to do this sum : Are forty men without shot as good as eighty 
with ? ’ 

‘ Thou art right, old fellow ; right enough : and I was only 
jesting for very sorrow, and must needs laugh about it, lest I 
weep about it. Our chance is over, I believe, though I dare 
not confess as much to the men.’ 

‘Sir,’ said Yeo, ‘I have a feeling on me that the Lord’s 
hand is against us in this matter. Whether He means to keep 
this wealth for worthier men than us ; or whether it is His will 
to hide this great city in the secret place of His presence from 
the strife of tongues, and so to spare them from sinful man’s 
covetousness, and England from that sin and luxury which I 
have seen gold beget among the Spaniards, I know not. Sir ; 
for who knoweth the counsels of the Lerd ? But I have long 
had a voice within which saith, “ Salvation Yeo, thou shalt 
never behold the Golden City which is on earth, where heathens 
worship sun and moon and the hosts of heaven : be content, 
therefore, to see that Golden City which is above, where is 
neither sun nor moon, but the Lord God and the Lamb are the 
light thereof.” ’ 

There was a simple majesty about old Yeo when he broke 
forth in utterances like these, which made his comrades, and 
even Amyas and Cary, look on him as Mussulmans look on 
madmen, as possessed of mysterious knowledge and flashes of 
inspiration ; and Brimblecombe, whose pious soul looked up 
to the old hero with a reverence which had overcome all 
his Churchman’s prejudices against Anabaptists, answered 
gently, — 

‘ Amen ! amen ! my masters all : and it has been on my 
mind, too, this long time, that there is a providence against our 
going east ; for see how, this two years past, whenever we 
have pushed eastward, we have fallen into trouble, and lost 
good men ; and whenever we went Westward-ho, we have 
prospered ; and do prosper to this day.’ 


401 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 

4 

‘ And what is more, gentlemen,’ said Yeo, ‘ if, as Scripture 
says, dreams are from the Lord, I verily believe mine last 
night came from Him ; for as I lay by the fire, sirs, I heard 
my little maid’s voice calling of me, as plain as ever I heard it 
in my life ; and the very same words, sirs, which she learned 
from me and my good comrade, William Penberthy, to say, 
“ Westward-ho ! jolly mariners all !” a bit of an ungodly song, 
my masters, which we sang in our wild days : but she stood 
and called it as plain as ever mortal ears heard, and called 
again till I answered, “Coming! my maid, coming!” and 
after that the dear chuck called no more, — God grant I find 
her yet ! — and so I woke.’ 

Cary had long since given up laughing at Yeo about the 
‘little maid;’ and Amyas answered, — 

‘ So let it be, Yeo, if the rest agree : but what 'shall we do to 
the westward ? ’ 

‘ Do ? ’ said Cary ; ‘ there’s plenty to do, for there’s plenty 
of gold, and plenty of Spaniards, too, they say, on the other 
side of these mountains; so that our swords will not rust for 
lack of adventures, my gUy knight-errants all.’ 

So they chatted on ; and before night was half through, a 
plan was matured, desperate enough, — but what cared those 
brave hearts for that ? They would cross the Cordillera to 
Santa Fe de Bogota, of the wealth whereof both Yeo and 
Amyas had often heard in the Pacific ; try to seize either the 
town, or some convoy of gold going from it ; make for the 
nearest river (there was said to be a large one which ran north- 
ward thence), build canoes, and try to reach the Northern Sea 
once more ; and then, if heaven prospered them, they might 
seize a Spanish ship, and make their way home to England, 
not, indeed, with the wealth of Manoa, but with a fair booty of 
Spanish gold. This was their new dream. It was a wild one : 
but hardly more wild than the one which Drake had fulfilled, 
and not as wild as the one which Oxenham might have ful- 
filled, but for his own fatal folly. 

Amyas sat watching late that night, sad of heart. To give 
up the cherished dream of years was hard ; to face his mother, 
harder still : but it must be done, for the men’s sake. So the 
new plan was proposed next day, and accepted joyfully. They 
would go up to the mountains, and rest awhile ; if possible, 
bring up the wounded wdiom they had left behind ; and then, 
try a new venture, with new hopes, perhaps new dangers ; they , 
were inured to the latter. 

They started next morning cheerfully enough, and for three 
hours or more paddled easily up the glassy and windless 


402 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


reaches, between two green flower-bespangled walls of forest, 
gay with innumerable birds and insects; while down from the 
branches which overhung the stream, long trailers hung to the 
water’s edge, and seemed admiring in the clear mirror the 
images of their -^own gorgeous flowers. Kiver, trees, flowers, 
birds, insects, — it was all a fairy-land: but it was a colossal 
one ; and yet the voyages took little note of it. It was now to 
them an every-day occurrence, to see trees full two hundred 
feet high one mass of yellow or purple blossom to the highest 
twigs, and every branch and stem one hanging garden of crim- 
son and orange orchids or vanillas. Common to them were all 
the fantastic and enormous shapes with which Nature bedecks 
her robes beneath the fierce suns and fattening rains of the 
tropic forest. Common were forms and colors of bird, and 
fish, and butterfly, more strange and bright than ever opium- 
eater dreamed. The long processions of monkeys, who kept 
pace with them along the tree-tops, and proclaimed their won- 
der in every imaginable whistle and grunt and howl, had ceased 
to move their laughter, as much as the roar of the jaguar and 
the rustle of the boa had ceased to move their fear ; and when 
a brilliant green and rose-colored fish, flat-bodied like a bream, 
flab-finned like a salmon, and saw-toothed like a shark, leapt 
clean on board of the canoe to escape the rush of the huge 
alligator (whose loathsome snout, ere he could stop, actually 
rattled against the canoe within a foot of Jack Brimblecombe’s 
hand). Jack, instead of turning pale, as he had done at the 
sharks upon a certain memorable occasion, coolly picked up 
the fish, and said, ‘ He’s four pound weight ! If you can catch 
“ pirai” for us like that, old fellow, just keep in our wake, and 
we’ll give you the cleanings for wages.’ 

Yes. The mind of man is not so ‘ infinite,’ in the vulgar 
sense of that word, as people fancy ; and however greedy the 
appetite for wonder may be, while it remains unsatisfied in 
every-day European life, it is as easily satiated as any other 
appetite, and then leaves the senses of its possessor as dull as 
those of a city gourmand after a Lord Mayor’s feast. Only the 
highest minds, — our Humboldts, and Bonplands, and Schom- 
burgks (and they only when quickened to an almost unhealthy 
activity by civilization), — can go on long appreciating where 
Nature is insatiable, imperious, maddening, in her demands on 
our admiration. The very power of observing wears out under 
the rush of ever new objects ; and the dizzy spectator is fain 
at last to shut the eyes of his soul, and take refuge (as West 
Indian Spaniards do) in tobacco and stupidity. The man, too, 
who has not only eyes, but utterance, — what shall he do where 


THE BANKS OF. THE META. 


403 


all words fail him ? Superlatives are but inarticulate, after all, 
and give no pictures even of size any more than do numbers 
of feet and yards : and yet what else can we do, but heap 
superlative on superlative, and cry, ‘ Wonderful, wonderful ! 
and after that wonderful, past all whooping?’ What Hum- 
boldt’s self cannot paint, we will not try to daub. The voyagers 
were in a South American forest, readers. Fill up the meaning 
of those words, each as your knowledge enables you, for I can- 
not do it fo.r you. 

Certainly those, adventurers could not. The absence of any 
attempt at word-painting, even of- admiration at the glorious 
things which they saw, is most remarkable in all early voyagers, 
both Spanish and English. The only two exceptions which I 
recollect are Columbus — (but then all was new, and he was 
bound to tell what he had seen) — and Raleigh ; the two most 
gifted men, perhaps, with the exception of Humboldt, who ever 
set foot in tropical America ; but even they dare nothing but a 
few feeble hints in passing. Their souls had been dazzled and 
stunned by a great glory. Coming out of our European Nature 
into that tropic one, they had felt like Plato’s men, bred in the 
twilight cavern, and then suddenly turned round to the broad 
blaze of day ; they had seen things awful and unspeakable : 
why talk of them, except to say with the Turks, ‘God is 
great ! ’ 

So it was with these men. Among the higher-hearted of 
them, the grandeur and the glory around had attuned their 
spirits to itself, and kept up in them a lofty, heroical, reverent 
frame of mind : but they knew as little about the trees and 
animals in an ‘artistic’ or ‘critical’ point of view, as in a 
scientific one. This tree the Indians called one unpronounce- 
able name, and it made good bows ; that, some other name, and 
it made good canoes ; of that, you could eat the fruit ; that, pro- 
duced the caoutchouc gum, useful for a hundred matters; that, 
was what the Indians (and they likewise) used to poison their 
arrows with ; from the ashes of those palm-nuts you could make 
good salt; that tree, again, was full of good milk, if you bored 
the stem; they drank it, and gave God thanks, and were not 
astonished. God was great; but that they had discovered long 
before they came into the tropics. Noble old child-hearted 
heroes, with just romance and superstition enough about them 
to keep them from that prurient hysterical wonder and enthu- 
siasm, which is simply, one often fears, a product of our scep- 
ticism ! We do not trust enough in God, we do not really 
believe His power enough, to be ready, as they were, as every 
one ought to be on a God- made earth, for anything and every- 


404 


THE BANKS. OF THE META. 


thing being possible ; and, then, when a wonder is discovered, 
we go into ecstasies and shrieks over it, and take to ourselves 
credit for being susceptible of so lofty a feeling, true index, 
forsooth, of a refined and cultivated mind. 

They paddled onward, hour after hour, sheltering themselves^, 
as best they could under the shadow of the southern bank, while 
on their right hand the full sun-glare lay upon the enormous 
wall of mimosas, figs, and laurels, which formed the northern 
forest, broken by the slender shafts of bamboo tufts, .and decked 
with a thousand gaudy parasites ; bank upon bank of gorgeous 
bloom piled upward to the sky, till where its outline cut the 
blue, flowers and leaves, too lofty to be distinguished by the 
eye, formed a broken rainbow of all hues quivering in the 
ascending streams of azure mist, until they seemed to melt and 
mingle with the very heavens. 

And as the sun rose higher and higher, a great stillness fell 
upon the forest. The jaguars and the monkeys had hidden 
themselves in the darkest depths of the woods. The birds’ 
notes died out one by one ; the very butterflies ceased their flit- 
ting over the tree-tops, and slept with outspread wings upon the 
glossy leaves, undistinguishable from the flowers around them. 
Now and then a colibri whirred downward toward the water, 
hummed for a moment around some pendent flower, and then 
the living gem was lost in the deep blackness of the inner 
wood, among tree-trunks as huge and dark as the pillars of some 
Hindoo shrine; or a parrot swung and screamed at them from 
an overhanging bough ; or a thirsty monkey slid lazily down a 
liana to the surface of the stream, dipped up the water in his 
tiny hand, and started chattering back, as his eyes met those of 
some foul alligator peering upward through the clear depths 
below. In shaded nooks beneath the boughs, the capybaras, 
rabbits as large as sheep, went paddling sleepily round and 
round, thrusting up their unwieldy heads among the blooms of 
the blue water-lilies; while black and purple water-hens ran up 
and down upon the rafts of floating leaves. The shining snout 
of a fresh-water dolphin rose slowly to the surface; a jet of 
spray whirred up ; a rainbow hung upon it for a moment; and 
the black snout sank lazily again. Here and there, too, upon 
some shallow, pebbly shore, scarlet flamingos stood dreaming 
knee-deep on one leg; crested cranes pranced up and down, 
admiring their own finery ; and ibises and egrets dipped their 
bills under water in search of prey : but before noon even those 
had slipped away, and there reigned a stillness which might be 
heard — such a stillness (to compare small things with great) as 
broods beneath the rich shadows of Amyas’s own Devon woods, 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


405 


or among the lonely sweeps of Exmoor, when the heather is in 
flower — a stillness in which, as Humboldt says, ‘ If beyond the 
sdence we listen for the faintest undertones, we detect a stifled, 
continuous hum of. insects, which crowd the air close to the 
earth ; a confused swarming murmur which hangs round every 
bush, in the cracked bark of trees, in the soil undermined by 
lizards, millepedes, and bees; a voice proclaiming to us that all 
Nature breathes ; that under a thousand different forms, life 
swarms in the gaping and dusty earth, as much as in the bosom 
of the waters, and the air which breathes around.’ 

At last a soft and distant murmur, increasing gradually to a 
heavy roar, announced that they were nearing some cataract ; 
till turning a point, where the deep alluvial soil rose into a low 
cliff fringed with delicate ferns, they came full in sight of a 
scene at which all paused : not with astonishment, but with 
something very like disgust. 

‘ Rapids again ! ’ grumbled one. ‘ I thought we had had 
enough of them on the Orinoco.’ 

‘ VVe shall have to get out and draw the canoes overland, I 
suppose. Three hours will be lost, and in the very hottest of 
the day, too.’ 

‘ There’s worse behind ; don’t you see th^ spray behind the 
palms ? ’ 

‘ Stop grumbling, my masters, and don’t cry out before you 
are hurt. Paddle right up to the largest of those islands, and 
let us look about us.’ 

In front of them was a snow-white bar of raging foam, some 
ten feet high, along which were ranged three or four islands of 
black rock. Each was crested with a knot of lofty_ palms, 
whose green tops stood out clear against the bright sky, while 
the lower half of their stems loomed hazy through a luminous 
veil of rainbowed mist. The banks, right and left of the fall, 
were so densely fringed with a low hedge of shrubs, that land- 
ing seemed all but impossible ; and their Indian guide, suddenly 
looking round him and whispering, bade them beware of sav- 
ages ; and pointed to a canoe which lay swinging in the eddies 
under the largest island, moored apparently to the root of some 
tree. 

‘ Silence all ! ’ cried Amyas, ‘ and paddle up thither and 
seize the canoe. If there be an Indian on the island, we will 
have speech of him : but mind and treat him friendly; and on 
your lives neither strike nor shoot, ^ven if he offers to fight.? 

So, choosing a line of smooth backwater just in the wake of 
the island, they drove their canoes up by main force, and fast- 
ened them safely by the side of the Indian’s, while Amyas, 


406 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


always the foremost, sprang boldly on shore, whispering to the 
Indian boy to follow him. 

Once on the island, Amyas felt sure enough, that if its wild 
tenant had not seen them approach, he certainly had not heard 
them, so deafening was the noise which filled his brain, and 
seemed to make the very leaves upon the bushes quiver, and 
the solid stone beneath his feet to reel and ring. For two hun- 
dred yards and more above the fall, nothing met his eye but one 
white waste of raging foam, with here and there a transverse 
dyke of rock which hurled columns of spray and surges of 
beaded water high into the air, — strangely contrasting with the 
still and silent cliffs of green leaves which walled the river right 
and left, and more strangely still with the knots of enormous 
palms upon the islets, which reared their polished shafts a hun- 
dred feet into the air, straight and upright as masts, while their 
broad plumes and golden-clustered fruit slept in the sunshine 
far aloft, the image of the stateliest repose amid the wildest 
wrath of Nature. 

He looked round anxiously for the expected Indian : but he 
was nowhere to be seen ; and, in the meanwhile, as he stept 
cautiously along the island, which was some fifty yards in length 
and breadth, his senses, accustomed as they were to such sights, 
could not help dwelling on the exquisite beauty of the scene ; 
on the garden of gay flowers, of every imaginable form and 
hue, which fringed every boulder at his feet, peeping out amid 
delicate fern-fans and luxuriant cushions of moss ; on the 
chequered shade of the palms, and the cool air, which wafted 
down from the cataracts above the scents of a thousand flowers. 
Gradually his ear became accustomed to the roar, and, above 
its mighty undertone, he could hear the whisper of the wind 
among the shrubs, and the hum of myriad insects ; while the 
rock manakin, with its saffron plumage, flitted before him from 
stone to stone, calling cheerily, and seeming to lead him on. 
Suddenly scrambling over the rocky flower-beds to the other 
side of the isle, he came upon a little shady beach, which, be- 
neath a bank of stone some six feet high, fringed the edge of a 
perfectly still and glassy bay. Ten yards further, the cataract 
fell sheer in thunder: but a high fern-fringed rock turned its 
force away from that quiet nook. In it the water swung slowly 
round and round in glassy dark-green rings, among which dim- 
pled a hundred gaudy fish, waiting for every fly and worm 
which spun and quivered oj^ the eddy. Here, Tf anywhere, was 
the place to find the owner of the canoe. He leaped down upon 
the pebbles ; and as he did so, a figu-re rose from behind a 
neighboring rock, and met him face to face. 


I 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 407 

It was an Indian girl ; and yet, when he looked again — was 
it an Indian girl ? Amyas had seen hundreds of those delicate 
dark-skinned daughters of the forest, but never such a one as 
this. Her stature was taller : her limbs were fuller and more 
rounded ; her complexion, though tanned by light, was fairer 
by far than his own sunburnt face ; her hair, crowned with a 
garland of white flowers, was not lank, and straight, and black, 
like an Indian’s, but of a rich glossy brown, and curling richly 
and crispy from her very temples to her knees. Her forehead, 
though low, was upright and ample ; her nose was straight and 
small ; her lips, the lips of a European ; her whole face of the 
highest and richest type of Spanish beauty ; a collar of gold 
mingled with green beads hung round her neck, and golden 
bracelets were on her wrists. All the strange and dim legends 
of white Indians, and of nations of a higher race than Carib, 
or Arrowak, or Solimo, which Amyas had ever heard, rose up 
in his memory. She must be the daughter of some great 
Cacique, perhaps of the lost Incas themselves — why not.? 
And full of simple wonder, he gazed upon that fairy vision, 
while she, unabashed in her free innocence, gazed fearlessly in 
return, as Eve might have done in Paradise, upon the mighty 
stature, and the strange garments, and above all, on the bushy 
beard and flowing yellow locks, of the Englishman. 

He spoke first, in some Indian tongue, gently and smilingly, 
and made a half-step forward : but quick as light she caught 
up from the ground a bow, and held it fiercely toward him, 
fitted with the long arrow, with which, as he could see, she had 
been striking fish, for a line of twisted grass hung from its 
barbed head.- Amyas stopped, laid down his own bow and 
sword, and made another step in advance, smiling still, and 
making all Indian signs of amity : but the arrow was still 
pointed straight at his breast, .and he knew the mettle and 
strength of the forest-nymphs well enough, to stand still and 
call for the Indian boy ; too proud to retreat, but in the uncom- 
fortable expectation of feeling every moment the shaft quiver- 
ing between his ribs. 

The boy, who had been peering from above, leaped down 
to them in a moment ; and began, as the safest method, grovel- 
ling on his nose upon the pebbles, while he tried two or three 
dialects, one of which at last she seemed to understand, and 
answered in a tone of evident suspicion and anger. 

‘ What does she say ? ’ % 

‘ That you are a Spaniard and a robber, because you have 
a beard.’ 

‘ Tell her that we are no Spaniards, but that we hate them ; 


408 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


and are come across the great waters to help the Indians to kill 
them.’ 

The boy translated his speech. The nymph answered by a 
contemptuous shake of the head. 

‘ Tell her, that if she will send her tribe to us, we will do 
them no harm. We are going over the mountains to fight the 
Spaniards, and we want them to show us the way.’ 

The boy had no sooner spoken, than, nimble as a deer, the 
nymph had sprung up the rocks, and darted between the palm- 
stems to her canoe. Suddenly she caught sight of the English 
boat, and stopped with a cry of fear and rage. 

‘ Let her pass ! ’ shouted Amyas, who had followed her 
close. ‘ Push your boat off, and let her pass. Boy, tell her to 
go on, they will not come near her.’ 

But she hesitated still, and with arrow drawn to the head, 
faced first on the boat’s crew, and then on Amyas, till the Eng- 
lishmen had shoved off full twenty yards. 

Then, leaping into her tiny piragua, she darted into the 
wildest whirl of the eddies, shooting along with vigorous 
strokes, while the English trembled as they saw the frail 
bark spinning and leaping amid the muzzles of the alligators, 
and the huge dog-toothed trout : but with the swiftness of an 
arrow she reached the northern bank, drove her canoe among 
the bushes, and leaping from it, darted through some narrow 
opening in the bush, and vanished like a dream. 

‘ What fair virago have you unearthed ? ’ cried Cary, as they 
toiled up again to the landing-place. 

‘ Beshrew me,’ quoth Jack, ‘ but we are in the very land of 
the nymphs, and 1 shall expect to see Diana herself next, with 
the moon on her forehead.’ 

‘ Take care, then, where you wander hereabouts. Sir John : 
lest you end as Actaeon did, by turning into a stag and being 
eaten by a jaguar.’ 

‘ ActsBon was eaten by his own hounds, Mr. Cary, so the 
parallel don’t hold. But surely she was a very wonder of 
beauty ! ’ 

Why was it that Amyas did not like this harmless talk^.?^ 
There had come over him the strangest new feeling ; as if that 
fair vision was his property, and the men had no right to talk 
about her, no right to have even seen her. And he spoke quite 
surlily as he said, — 

‘ You may leave the wq^en to themselves, my masters ; 
you’ll have to deal with the men ere long : so get your canoes 
uj) on the rock, and keep good watch.’ 

‘Hillo!’ shouted one in a few minutes, ‘here’s fresh fish 


THE BANKS OF THE META. 


409 


eno\igh to feed us all round. I suppose that young cat-a-moun- 
tain left it behind her in her hurry. I wish she had left her 
golden chains and ouches into the bargain.’ 

‘ Well,’ said another, ‘ we’ll take it as fair payment, for hav- 
ing made us drop down the Current again to let her ladyship 
pass.’ 

‘ Leave that fish alone,’ said Amyas, ‘ it is none of yours.’ 

‘ W’hy, Sir ! ’ quoth the finder, in a tone of sulky deprecation. 

‘ If we are to make good friends with the heathens, we had 
better not begin by stealing their goods. There are plenty 
more fish in the river ; go and catch them, and let the* Indians 
have their own.’ 

’riie men were accustomed enough to strict and stern justice 
in their dealings with the savages: but they could not help 
looking slily at each other, and hinting, when out of sight, that 
the Captain seemed in a mighty fuss about his new acquaint- 
ance. 

However, they were expert by this time in all the Indians’ 
fishing methods; and so abundant was the animal life which 
swarmed around every rock, that in an hour fish enough lay on 
the beach to feed them all, whose forms and colors, names and 
fi\milies, I must leave the reader to guess from the wondrous 
pages of Sir Richard Schomburgk, for I know too little of them 
to sp('ak without the fear of making mistakes. 

A full hour passed before they saw anything more of their 
Indian neighbors ; and then from under the bushes shot out a 
canoe, on which all eyes were fixed in expectation. 

Amyas, who expected to find there some remnant of a higher 
race, was disappointed enough at seeing on board only the 
usual half-dozen of low-browed, dirty Orsons, painted red with 
arnotlo : but a gray-headed elder at the stern seemed, by his 
feathers and gold ornaments, to be some man of note in the 
little woodland community. 

The canoe canje close up to the island ; Amyas saw that 
they were unarmed, and, laying down his weapons, advanced 
alone to the bank, making all signs of amity. They were re- 
turned with interest by the old man, and Amyas’s next care 
was to bring forward the fish which the fair nymph had left 
behind, and, through the medium of the Indian lad, to give the 
Cacique (for so he seemed to be) to understand that he wished to 
render every one his own. d’his offer was received, as Amyas 
expected, with great applause, and the canoe came along- 
side : but the crew still seemed afraid to land. Amyas bade 
his men throw the fish one by one into the boat ; and then pro- 
claimed by the boy’s mouth, as was his custom with all Indians, 

• 85 


410 


THE BAKES OF THE META. 


that he and his were enemies of the Spaniards, and on their 
way to make war against them, — and that all which they 
desired was a peaceable and safe passage through the domin- 
ions of the mighty potentate and renowned warrior whom they 
beheld before them; for Amyas argued rightly enough, that 
even if the old fellow aft was not the Cacique, he would be 
none the less pleased at being mistaken for him. 

Whereon, the ancient worthy, rising in the canoe, pointed to 
heaven, earth, and the things under, and commenced a long 
sermon, in tone, manner, and articulation, very like one of 
those which the great black-bearded apes were in the habit 
of preaching every evening when they could get together a 
congregation of little monkeys to listen, to the great scandal of 
Jack, who would have it that some evil spirit set them on to 
mimic him ; which sermon, being partly interpreted by the 
Indian lad, seemed to signify, that the valor and justice of the 
white men had already reached the ears of the speaker, and 
that he was sent to welcome them into those regions by the 
Daughter of the Sun. 

‘ The Daughter of the Sun ! ’ quoth Amyas ; ‘ then we have 
found the lost Incas after all.’ 

‘ We have found something,’ said Cary ; ‘ I only hope it may 
not be a mare’s nest, like many another of our finding.’ 

‘ Or an adder’s,’ said Yeo. ‘ We must beware of treachery.’ 

‘ We must beware of no such thing,’ said Amyas, pretty 
sharply. ‘ Have I not told you fifty times, tliat if they see that 
we trust them, they will trust us, and if they see that we suspect 
them, they will suspect us? And when two parties are watch- 
ing to see who strikes the first blosv, they are sure to come to 
fisty-cuffs from mere dirty fear of each other.’ 

Amyas spoke truth ; for almost every atrocity against 
savages which had been committed by the Spaniards, and 
which was in later and worse times committed by the English, 
was wont to be excused in that same base fear of treachery. 
Amyas’s plan, like that of Drake and Cook, and all great Eng- 
lish voyagers, had been all along to inspire at once awe and 
confidence, by a frank and fearless carriage ; and he was not 
disappointed here. He bade the men step boldly into their 
canoes, and follow the old Indian whither he would. 'I'he sim- 
ple children of the forest bowed themselves reverently before 
the mighty strangers, and then led them smilingly across the 
stream, and through a narrow passage in the covert, to a hidden 
lagoon, on the banks of which stood, not Manoa, but a tiny 
Indian village. 


HOW AMYAS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


411 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


HOW AMY AS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 

* Let us sklone. What pleasure can we have 
To war with evil? Is there any peace 
In always climbing up the climbing wave? 

All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 
In silence ; ripen, fall, and cease: 

Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.’ 

Tennysox. 

Humboldt has somewhere a curious passage ; in which, look- 
ing on some wretched group of Indians, squatting stupidly 
round their fires, besmeared with grease and paint, and devour 
ing ants and clay, he somewhat naively remarks, that were 
it not for science, which teaches us that such is the crude 
material of humanity, and this the state from which we all have 
risen, he should have been tempted rather to look upon those 
hapless beings as the last degraded remnants of some fallen and 
dying race. One wishes that the great traveller had been bold 
enough to yield to that temptation, which his own reason and 
common sense presented to him as the real explanation of the 
sad sight, instead of following the dogmas of a so-called science, 
which has not a fact whereon to base its wild notion, and must 
ignore a thousand facts in asserting it. His own good sense, it 
seems, coincided instinctively with the Bible doctrine, that man 
in a state of nature is a fallen being, doomed to death — a 
view which may be a sad one, but* still one more honorable to 
poor humanity than the theory, that we all began as some sort 
of two-handed apes. It is surely more hopeful to believe that 
those poor Otomacs or Guahibas were not what they ought to 
be, than to believe that they were. It is certainly more com- 
plimentary to them, to think that they had been somewhat 
nobler and more prudent in centuries gone by, than that they 
were such blockheads as to have dragged on, the son after the 
father, for all the thousands of years which have elapsed since 
man was made, without having had wit enough to discover any 
belter food than ants and clay. 


412 


now AMYAS WAS 


Our voyagers, however, like those of their time, troubled 
their heads with no such questions. Taking the Bible story {is 
they found it, they agreed with Humboldt’s reason, and not with 
his science ; or, to speak correctly, agreed with Humboldt’s 
self, and not with the shallow antliropologic theories which hap- 
pened to be in vogue fifty years ago; and their new hosts were 
in their eyes immortal souls like themselves, ‘ captived by the 
devil at his will,’ lost there in the pathless forests, and likely to 
be lost hereafter. 

And certainly facts seemed to bear out their old-fashioned 
theories; although these Indians had sunk by no means so low 
as the Guahibas whom they had met upon the lower waters of 
the same river. 

They beheld, on landing, a scattered village of palm-leaf 
sheds, under which, as usual, the hammocks were slung from 
tree to'tree. Here and there, in openings in the forest, patches 
of cassava and indigo appeared ; and there was a look of 
neatness and comfort about the little settlement superior to 
the average. 

But now for the signs of the evil spirit. Certainly it was no 
Good Spirit who hud inspired them with the art of music ; or 
else (as Cary said) Apollo and Mercury (if they ever visited 
America) had played their forefathers a shabby trick, and put 
them off with very poor instruments, and still poorer taste. 
For on either side of the landing-place were arranged four or 
five stout fellows, each with a tall drum, or a long, earthen 
trumpet, swelling out in the course of its length into several 
hollow balls, from which arose, the moment that the strangers 
set foot on shore, so deafening a cacophony of howls, and 
groans, and thumps, as fully to justify Yeo’s remark, ^ They 
are calling upon their devil, Sir.’ To which Cary answered, 
with some show of reason, that ‘ they were the less likely to be 
disappointed, for none but Sir Urian would ever come to listen 
to such a noise.’ 

‘ And you mark, sirs,’ said Yeo, ‘ there is some feast or 
sacrifice toward. I’m not over confident of them yet.’ 

‘ Nonsense ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ we could kill every soul of them 
in half-an-hour, and they know that as well as we.’ 

But some great demonstration was plainly toward ; for the • 
children of the forest were arrayed in two lines right and left 
of the open space, the men in front, and the wovneii behind ; 
and all bedizened, to the best of their power, with arnotto, indigo, 
and feathers. 

Next, with a hideous yell, leapt into the centre of the space 
a personage who certainly could not have complained if any 


TEMPTED OE THE DEVIL. 


413 


one had taken him for the devil, for he had dressed himself up 
carefully for that very intent in a jaguar-skin, with a long tail, 
grinning teeth, a pair of horns, a plume of black and yellow 
feathers, and a huge rattle. 

‘ Here’s the Piache, the rascal,’ says Amyas. 

‘ Ah,’ says Yeo, ‘ in Satan’s livery ; and I’ve no doubt his works 
are according — trust him for it.’ 

‘ Don’t be frightened. Jack,’ says Cary, backing up Brimble- 
combe from behind. ‘ It’s your business to tackle him, you 
know. At-him boldly, and he’ll run.’ 

Whereat all the men laughed ; and the Piache, who had 
intended to produce a very solemn impression, hung fire a 
little. However, being accustomed to get his bread by his im- 
pudence, he soon 'recovered himself, advanced, smote one of 
the magicians over the head with his rattle to procure silence; 
and then began a harangue, to which Amyas listened patiently, 
cigar in mouth. 

‘ VV hat’s it all about, boy ? ’ 

‘ He wants to know whether you have seen Amalivaca on the 
other shore of the great water ? ’ 

Amyas was accustomed to this inquiry after the mythic civ- 
ilizer of the forest Indians, who, after carving the mysterious 
sculptures which appear upon so many inland cliffs of that 
region, returned again whence he came, beyond the ocean. 
He answered, as usual, by setting forth the praises of Queen 
Elizabeth. 

To which the Piache replied, that she must be one of Amali- 
vaca’s seven daughters, some of whom he took back with him, 
while he broke the legs of the rest, to prevent their running 
away, and left them to people the forests. 

To which Amyas replied, that his Queen’s legs were cer- 
tainly not broken ; for she was a very model of grace and 
activity, and the best dancer in all her dominions : but that it 
was more important to him to know whether the tribe would give 
them cassava bread, and let them stay peaceably on that island 
to rest awhile, before they went on to fight the clothed men 
(the Spaniards) on the other side of the mountains. 

On which the Piache, after capering and turning head over 
heels, with much howling, beckoned Amyas and his party to 
follow him ; they did so, seeing that the Indians were all un- 
armed, and evidently in the highest good humor. 

The Piache went toward the door of a carefully closed hut, 
and crawling up to it on all-fours, in most abject fashion, began 
whining to some one within. 

‘ Ask what he is about, boy.’ 

35 * 


414 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


The lad asked the old Cacique, who had accompanied them, 
and received for answer, that he was consulting the Daughter 
of the Sun. 

‘ Here is our mare’s nest, at last,’ quoth Cary, as the Piache 
from whines rose to screams and gesticulations, and then to 
violent convulsions, foaming at the mouth, and rolling of the 
eye-balls, till he suddenly sank exhausted, and lay for dead. 

‘ As good as a stage-play.’ 

‘ The Devil has played his part,’ said Jack ; ‘ and now, by the 
rules of all plays. Vice should come on.’ 

‘ And a very fair Vice it will be, I suspect ; a right sweet 
Iniquity, my Jack. Listen.’ 

And from the interior of the hut rose a low, sweet song, at 
which all the simple Indians bowed their heads in reverence ; 
and the English were hushed in astonishment; for the voice 
was not shrill or guttural, like that of an Indian, but round, 
clear, and rich, like a European’s ; and as it 'swelled and rose 
louder and louder, showed a compass and power which would 
have been extraordinary anywhere (and many a man of the 
party, as was usual in musical old England, was a good judge 
enough of such a matter, and could hold his part right well in 
glee, and catch, and roundelay, and psalm). And, as it leaped, 
and ran, and sank again, and rose once more to fall once more, 
all but inarticulate, yet perfect in melody, like the voice of bird 
on bough, the wild wanderers were rapt in new delight, and 
did not wonder at the Indians as they bowed their heads, and 
welcomed the notes as messengers from some higher world, 
At last, one triumphant burst, so shrill that all ears rang again, 
and then dead silence. The Piache, suddenly restored to life, 
jumped upright, and recommenced preaching at Amyas. 

‘Tell the howling villain to make short work of it, lad ! His 
tune won’t do after that last one.’ 

The lad, grinning, informed Amyas, that the Piache signified 
their acceptance as friends by the Daughter of the Sun ; that 
her friends were theirs, and her foes theirs. Whereon the 
Indians set up a scream of delight, and Amyas, rolling another 
tobacco-leaf up in another strip of plantain, answered, — 

‘ Then let her give us some cassava,’ and lighted a fresh 
cigar. 

Whereon the door of the hut opened, and the Indians pros- 
trated themselves to the earth, as there came forth the same 
fair apparition which they had encountered upon the island, but 
decked now in feather-robes and plumes of every imaginable 
hue. 

Slowly and stately, as one aQCustgrried to command, she 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


415 


walked up to Amyas, glancing proudly round on her prostrate 
adorers, and pointing with graceful arms to the trees, the gar- 
dens, and the huts, gave him to understand by signs (so 
expressive were her looks, that no words were needed) that all 
was at his service ; after which, taking his hand, she lifted it 
gently to her forehead. 

At that sign of submission a shout of rapture rose from the 
crowd ; and as the mysterious maiden retired again to her hut, 
they pressed round the English, caressing and admiring, point- 
ing with equal surprise to their swords, their Indian bows and 
blow-guns, and to their trophies of wild beasts with which they 
were clothed ; while women hastened off to bring fruit and 
flowers, and cassava, and (to Amyas’s great anxiety) calabashes 
of intoxicating drink ; and, to make a long story short, the En- 
glish sat down beneath the trees and feasted merrily, while 
the drums and trumpets made hideous music, and lithe young 
girls and lads danced uncouth dances, which so scandalized 
both Brimblecombe and Yeo, that they persuaded Amyas to 
beat an early retreat. He was willing enough to get back to 
the island while the men were still sober; so there were many 
leave-takings and promises of return on the morrow, and the 
party paddled back to their island fortress, racking their wits as 
to who or what the mysterious maid could be. 

Amyas, however, had settled in his mind that she was one of 
the lost Inca race : perhaps a descendant of that very fair girl, 
wife of the Inca Manco, whom Pizarro, forty years before, had, 
merely to torture the fugitive king’s heart, as his body w^as safe 
from the tyrant’s reach, stripped, scourged, and shot to death 
W'ith arrows, uncomplaining to the last. 

They all assembled for the evening service (hardly a day had 
passed since they left England on which they had not done the 
same) ; and after it was over, they must needs sing a psalm, 
and then a catch or two, ere they went to sleep; and till the 
moon was high in heaven, twenty mellow voices rang out above 
the roar of the cataract, in many a good old tune. Once or 
twice they thought they heard an echo to their song ; but they 
took no note of it, till Cary, who had gone apart for a few 
minutes, returned, and whispered Amyas away. 

‘ The sweet Iniquity is mimicking us, lad.’ 

They w'ent to the brink of the river; and there (for their 
ears were by this time dead to the noise of the torrent) they 
could hear plainly the same voice which had so surprised them 
in the hut, repeating, clear and true, snatches of the airs which 
they had sung. Strange and solemn enough was the effect of 
the men’s deep voices on the island, answered out of the dark 


316 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


forest by those sweet treble notes ; and the two young men 
stood a long while listening and looking out across the 
eddies, which swirled down golden in the moonlight ; but they 
could see nothing beyond save the black wall of trees. After 
awhile the voice ceased, and the two returned to dream of 
Incas and nightingales. 

They visited the village again next day, and every day for 
a week or more ; but the maiden appeared but rarely, and when 
she did, kept her distance as haughtily as a queen. 

Amyas, of course, as soon as he could converse somewhat 
better with his new friends, was not long before he questioned 
the Cacique about her. But the old man made an owl’s face 
at her name, and intimated, by mysterious shakes of the head, 
that she was a very strange personage, and the less said about 
her the better. She was ‘ a child of the Sun,’ and that was 
enough. 

‘ Tell him, boy,’ quoth Cary, ‘ that we are the children of the 
Sun by his first wife ; and have orders from him to inquire how 
'the Indians have behaved to our step-sister, for he cannot see 
all their tricks down here, the trees are so thick. So let him 
tell us, or all the cassava plants shall be blighted.’ 

‘ Will, Will, don’t play with lying ! ’ said Amyas : but the 
threat was enough for the Cacique, and taking them in his 
canoe a full mile down the stream, as if in fear that the won- 
derful maiden should overhear hiin, he told them in a sort of 
rhythmic chant, how, many moons ago (he could not tell how 
many), his tribe was s mighty nation, and dwelt in Papamene, 
till the Spaniards drove them forth. And how, as they wan- 
dered northward, far away upon the mountain spurs beneath 
the flaming cone of Cotopaxi, they had found this fair creature 
wandering in the forest, about the bigness of a seven years’ 
child. Wondering at her white skin and her delicate beauty, 
the simple Indians worshipped her as a god, and led her home 
with them. And when they found that she was human like 
themselves, their wonder scarcely lessened. How could so ten- 
der a being have sustained life in those forests, and escaped the 
jaguar and the snake? She must be under some Divine pro- 
tection ; she must be a daughter of the Sun, one of that mighty 
Inca race, the news of whose fearful fall had reached even 
those lonely wildernesses; who had, many of them, haunted 
for years as exiles the eastern slopes of the Andes, about the 
Ucalayi and the Maranon ; who would, as all Indians knew, 
rise again some day to power, when bearded white men should 
come across the seas to restore them to their ancient throne. 

So, as the girl grew up among them, she was tended with 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


417 


royal honors, by command of the conjurer of the tribe, that 
so her forefather, the Sun, miglit be pro|)iiious to them, and the 
Incas might show favor to the poor ruined Omaguas, in the day 
of their coming glory. And as she grew, she had become, it 
seemed, somewhat of a prophetess among them, as well as an 
object of fetish-worship ; for she was more prudent in council, 
valiant in war, and cunning in the chase, than all the elders of 
the tribe ; and those strange and sweet songs of hers, which 
had so surprised the white men, were full of mysterious wis- 
dom about the birds, and the animals, and the flowers, and the 
rivers, which the Sun and the Good Spirit taught her from 
above. So she had lived among them, unmarried still, not only 
because she despised the addresses of all Indian youths, but 
because the conjurer had declared it to be profane in them to 
mingle with the race of the Sun, and had assigned her a cabin 
near his own, where she was served in state, and gave some 
sort of oracular responses, as they had seen, to the questions 
which he put to her. 

Such was the Cacique’s tale ; on which Cary remarked; 
probably not unjustly, that he ‘ dared to say the conjurer made 
a very good thing of it : ’ but Amyas was silent, full of dreams, 
if not about Manoa, still about the remnant of the Inca race. 
What if they were still to be found about the southern sources 
of the Amazon ? He must have been very near them already, 
in that case. It was vexatious : but at least he might be sure 
that they had formed no great kingdom in that direction, or 
he should have heard of it long ago. Perhaps they had 
moved lately from thence eastward, to escape some fresh en- 
croachment of the Spaniards, and this girl had been left behind 
in their flight. And then he recollected with a sigh, how hope- 
less was any further search with his diminished band. At 
least, he might learn something of the truth from the maiden 
herself. It might be useful to him in some future attempt ; for 
he had not yet given up Manoa. If he but got safe home, 
there was ntany a gallant gentleman (and Kaleigh came at 
once into his mind) who would join him in a fresh search for 
the Golden City of Guiana ; not by the upper waters, but by 
the mouth of the Orinoco. 

So they paddled back, while the simple Cacique entreated 
them to tell the Sun, in their daily prayers, how well the wild 
people had treated his descendant; and besought them not to 
take her away with them, lest the Sun should forget the poor 
Omaguas, and ripen their manioc and their fruit no more. 

Amyas had no wish to stay where he was, longer than was 
absolutely necessary to bring up the sick .men from the Ori- 


418 


HOW AMVAS WAS 


noco ; but this, he well knew, would be a journey probably of 
some months, and attended with much danger. 

Cary volunteered at once, however, to undertake the adven- 
ture, if half-a-dozen men would join him, and the Indians 
would send a few young men to help in working the canoe ; 
but this latter item was not an easy one to obtain ; for the tribe 
with whom they now were, stood in some fear of the fierce 
and brutal Guahibas, through whose country they must pass ; 
and every Indian tribe, as Amyas knew well enough, looks on 
each tribe of different language to itself as natural enemies, 
hateful, and made only to be destroyed wherever met. This 
strange Jact, too, Amyas and his party attributed to delusion of 
the devil, the divider and accuser; and I am of opinion that 
they were perfectly right : only let Amyas take care that while 
he is discovering the devil in the Indians, he does not give 
place to him in himself, and that in more ways than one. 
But of that more hereafter. 

Whether, however, it was pride or shyness which kept the 
maiden aloof, she conquered it after awhile ; perhaps through 
mere woman’s curiosity ; and perhaps, too, from mere longing 
for amusement in a place- so unspeakably stupid as the forest. 
She gave the English to understand, however, that though they 
all might be very important personages, none of them was to 
be her companion but Amyas. And ere a month was past, she 
was often hunting with him far and wide in the neighboring 
forest, with a train of chosen nymphs, whom she had persua- 
ded to follow her example and spurn the dusk suitors around. 
This fashion, not uncommon, perhaps, among the Indian tribes, 
where women are continually escaping to the forest from the 
tyranny of the men, and often, perhaps, forming temporary 
communities, was to the English a plain proof that they were 
near the land of the famous Amazons, of whom they had heard 
so often from the Indians ; while Amyas had no doubt that, as 
a descendant of the Incas, the maiden preserved the tradition 
of the Virgins of the Sun, and of the austere monastic rule 
of the Peruvian superstition. Had not that valiant German, 
George of Spires, and Jeronimo Ortal too, fifty years before, 
found convents of the Sun upon these very upper waters ? 

So a harmless friendship sprung up between Amyas and the 
girl, which soon turned to good account. For she no sooner 
heard that he needed a crew of Indians, than she consulted the 
Piache, assembled the tribe, and having retired to her hut, 
commenced a song, which (unless the Piache lied) was a 
command to furnish young men for Cary’s expedition, under 
penalty of the soverign displeasure of an evil spirit with an 


TEMPTLD OF THE DEVIL. 


419 


unpronounceable name — an argument which succeeded on 
the spot, and the canoe departed on its perilous errand. 

John Brimhlecombe had great doubts whether a venture thus 
started by direct help and patronage of the fiend would suc- 
ceed ; and Amyas himself, disliking the humbug, told Ayaca- 
nora that it would be better to have told the tribe that it was a 
good deed, and pleasing to the Good Spirit. 

‘ Ah ; ’ said she, naively enough, ‘ they know better than that. 
The Good Spirit is big and lazy ; and he smiles and takes no 
trouble: but the little bad spirit, he is so busy — here, and 
there, and everywhere ; ’ and she waved her pretty hands up 
and down ; ‘ he is the useful one to have for a friend ! ’ Which 
sentiment the Piache much approved, as became his occupa- 
tion ; and once told Brimblecombe pretty sharply, that he was 
a meddlesome fellow, for telling the Indians that the Good 
Spirit cared for them ; ‘ for,’ quoth he, ‘ if they begin to ask 
the Good Spirit for what they want, who will bring me cassava 
and coca for keeping the bad spirit quiet ? ’ This argument, 
however forcible the devil’s priests in all ages have felt it to be, 
did not stop Jack’s preaching (and very good and righteous 
preaching it was, moreover), and much less the morning and 
evening service in the island camp. This last the Indians, at- 
tracted by the singing, attended in such numbers, that the 
Piache found his occupation gone, and vowed to put an end to 
Jack’s Gospel with a poisoned arrow. 

Which plan he (blinded by his master, Satan, so Jack phrased 
ii) took into his head to impart to Ayacanora, as the partner of 
his tithes and offerings ; and was exceedingly astonished to re- 
ceive in answer a box on the ear, and a storm of abuse. After 
which, Ayacanora went to Amyas, and telling him all, proposed 
that the Piache should be thrown to the alligators, and Jack in- 
stalled in his place ; declaring that whatsoever the bearded men 
said must be true, and whosoever plotted against them should 
die the death. 

Jack, however, magnanimously forgave his foe, and preached 
on, of course with fresh zeal ; but not, alas ! wdth much suc- 
cess, Por the conjurer, though his main treasure was gone 
over to the camp of the enemy, had a reserve in a certain holy 
trumpet, which was hidden mysteriously in a cave on the neigh- 
boring hills, not to be looked on by woman under pain of 
death ; and it was well known, and had been known for gen- 
erations, that unless that trumpet, after fastings, flagellations, 
and other solemn rites, was blown by night throughout the 
woods, the palm-trees would bear no fruit ; yea, so great was 
the fame of that trumpet, that neighboring tribes sent at the 


42a 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


proper season to hire it and the blower thereof, by payment of 
much precious trumpery, that so they might be sharers in its 
fertilizing powers. 

So the Piache announced one day in public, that in conse- 
quence of the impiety of the Omaguas, he should retire to a* 
neigliboring tribe, of more religious turn of mind ; and, taking 
with him the precious instrument, leave their palms to blight, 
and themselves to the evil spirit. 

Dire was the wailing, and dire the wrath, throughout the 
village. Jack’s word’s were allowed to be good words ; but 
what was the Gospel in comparison of the trumpet ? The ras- 
cal saw his advantage, and began a fierce harangue against the 
heretic strangers. As he maddened, his hearers maddened ; 
the savage nature, capricious as a child’s, flashed out in wild 
suspicion. VVomen yelled, men scowled, and ran hastily to 
their huts for bows and blow-guns. The case was grown crit- 
ical. There were not more than a dozen men with Amyas at 
the time, and they had only their swords, while the Indian men 
might muster nearly a hundred. Amyas forbade his men 
either to draw or to retreat ; but poisoned arrows were weap- 
ons before which the boldest might well quail ; and more than 
one cheek grew pale, which had seldom been pale before. 

‘ It is God’s quarrel, sirs all,’ said Jack Brimblecombe ; ‘ let 
Him defend the right.’ 

As he spo.ke, from Ayacanora’s hut arose her magic song, 
and quivered aloft among the green heights of the forest. 

The mob stood spell-bound, still growling fiercely, but not 
daring to move. Another moment, and she had rushed out, 
like a very Diana, into the centre of the ring, bow in hand, and 
arrow on the string. 

The fallen ‘children of wrath’ had found their match in 
her ; for her beautiful face was convulsed with fury. Almost 
foaming in her passion, she burst forth with bitter revilings ; 
she pointed with admiration to the English, and then with 
fiercest contempt to the Indians; and at last, with fierce ges- 
tures, seemed to cast otT the very dust of her feet against them, 
and springing to Amyas’s side, placed herself in the forefront 
of the English battle. 

The whole scene was so sudden, that Amyas had hardly 
discovered whether she came as friend or foe, before her bow 
was raised. He had just time to strike up her hand, wdien 
the arrow flew past the ear of the offending Piache, and stuck 
quivering in a tree. 

‘ Let me kill the wretch ! ’ said she, stamping with rage ; 
but Amyas held her arm firmly. 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


421 


‘ Fools ! ’ cried she to the tribe, while tears of anger rolled 
down her cheeks. ‘ Choose between me and your trumpet ! I 
am a daughter of the Sun ; I am white ; I am a companion for 
Englishmen ! But you ! your mothers were Guahibas, and ate 
mud ; and your fathers — they were howling apes ! Let them 
sing to you ! I shall go to the white men, -and never sing you 
to sleep any more ; and when the little evil spirit misses my 
voice, he will come and tumble you out of your hammocks, 
and make you dream of ghosts every night, till you grow as 
thin as blow-guns, and as stupid as aye-ayes ! ’ 

This terrible counter-threat, in spite of the slight bathos in- 
volved, had its effect ; for it appealed to that dread of the 
sleep-world which is common to all savages; but the conjurer 
was ready to outbid the prophetess, and had begun a fresh 
oration, when Amyas turned the tide of war. Bursting into a 
huge laugh at the whole matter, he took the conjurer by his 
shoulders, sent him with one crafty kick half-a-dozen yards off 
upon his nose ; and then, walking out of the ranks, shook hands 
round with all his Indian acquaintances. 

Whereon, like grown-up babies, they all burst out laughing 
too, shook iiands with all the English, and then with each 
other ; being, after all, as glad as any bishops to prorogue the 
convocation, and let unpleasant questions stand over till the 
next session. The Piache relented, like a prudent man ; Aya- 
cahora returned to her hut to sulk ; and Amyas to his island, 
to long for Cary’s return, for he felt himself on dangerous 
ground. 

At last Will returned, safe and sound, and as merry as ever, 
not having lost a man (though he had had a smart brush with 
the Guahibas). He brought back three of the wounded men, 
now pretty nigh cured ; the other two, who had lost a leg 
apiece, had refused to come. They had Indian wives ; more 
than they could eat ; and tobacco without end ; and if it were 
not for the gnats (of which Cary said that there were more 
mosquitoes than there was air), they should be the happiest men 
alive. Amyas could hardly blame the poor fellows ; for the 
chance of their getting home through the forests with one leg 
each was very small, and, after all, they were making the best 
of a bad matter. And a very bad matter it seemed to him, to 
be left in a heathen land ; and a still worse matter, when he 
overheard some of the men talking about their comrades’ lonely 
fate, as if, after all, they were not so much to be pitied. He 
said nothing about it then, for he made a rule never to take 


36 


♦ Two-toed sloths. 


422 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


notice of any facts which he got at by eaves^dropping, however 
unintentional ; but he longed that one of them would say as 
much to him, and he would ‘ give them a piece of his mind.’ 
And a piece of his mind he had to give within the week ; for 
while he was on a hunting party, two of his men were missing, 
and were not heard of for some days ; at the end of which 
time the old Cacique came to tell him that he believed they had 
taken to the forest, each with an Indian girl. 

Amyas was very wroth at the news. First because it had 
never happened before ; he could say with honest pride, as 
Raleigh did afterward when he returned from his Guiana voy- 
age, that no Indian woman had ever been the worse for any 
man of his. He had preached on this point rhonth after 
month, and practised what he preached ; and now his pride was 
sorely hurt. 

Moreover, he dreaded offence to the Indians themselves; but 
on this score the Cacique soon comforted him, telling him that 
the girls, as far as he could find, had gone off of their own free 
will ; intimating that he thought it somewhat an honor to the 
tribe that they had found fiivor in the eyes of the bearded men ; 
and, moreover, that late wars had so thinned the ranks of their 
men, that they were glad enough to find husbands for their 
maidens, and had been driven of late years to kill many of 
their female infants. This sad story, common perhaps to every 
American tribe, and one of the chief causes of their extermina- 
tion, reassured Amyas somewhat ; but he could not stomach 
either the loss of his men, or their breach of discipline; and 
look for them he would. Did any one know where they were ? 
If the tribe knew, they did not care to tell ; but Ayacanora, 
the moment she found out his wishes, vanished into the forest, 
and returned in two days, saying that she had found the fugi- 
tives ; but she would not show him where they were, unless he 
promised not to kill them. He, of course, had no mind for so 
rigorous a method ; he both needed the men, and he had no 
malice against them, — for the one, Ebsworthy, was a plain, 
honest, happy-go-lucky sailor, and as good a hand as there was 
in the crew ; and the other was that same ne’er-do-weel Will 
Parracombe, his old schoolfellow, who had been tempted by the 
gipsy-Jesuit at Appledore, and resisting that bait, had made a 
very fair seaman. 

So forth Amyas went, with Ayacanora as a guide, some five 
miles upward along the fprest slopes, till the girl whispered, 
‘ There they are ; ’ and Amyas pushing himself gently through 
a thicket of bamboo, beheld a scene which, in spite of his wrath, 
kept him silent, and perhaps softened, for a minute. 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


423 


On the further side of a little lawn, the stream leapt through 
a chasm beneath overarching vines, sprinkling eternal fresh- 
ness upon all around, and then sank foaming into a clear rock- 
basin, a bath for Dian’s self. On its further side, the crag rose 
some twenty feet in height, bank upon bank of feathered ferns 
and cushioned moss, over the rich green beds of which drooped 
a thousand orchids, scarlet, white, and orange, and made the 
still pool gorgeous with the reflection of their gorgeousness. 
At its more quiet outfall, it was half-hidden in huge fantastic 
leaves and tall flowering stems; but near the waterfall the 
grassy bank sloped down toward the stream, and there on 
palm-leaves strewed upon the turf, beneath the shadow of the 
crags, lay the two men whom Amyas sought, and whom, now 
he had found them, he had hardly heart to wake from their - 
delicious dream. 

For what a nest it was which they had found ! The air was 
heavy with the scent of flowers, and quivering with the murmur 
of the stream, the humming of the colibris and insects, the 
cheerful song of birds, the gentle cooing of a hundred doves ; 
while now and then, from far away, the musical wail of the 
sloth, or the deep toll of the bell-bird, came softly to the ear. 
What was not there which eye or ear could need ? And what 
which palate could need either? For on the rock above, some 
strange tree, leaning forward, dropped every now and then a 
luscious apple upon the grass below, and huge wild plantains 
bent beneath their load of fruit. 

There, on the stream bank, lay the two renegades from 
civilized life. They had cast away thfeir clothes, and painted 
themselves like the Indians, with arnotto and indigo. One lay 
lazily picking up the fruit which fell close to his side ; the 
other sat, his back against a cushion of soft moss, his hands 
folded languidly upon his lap, giving himself up to the soft 
influence of the narcotic coca-juice, with half-shut dreamy eyes 
. fixed on the everlasting sparkle of the waterfall, — 

* While beauty, born of murmuring sound, 

Did pass into his face.’ 

Somewhat apart, crouched their two dusky brides, crowned 
with fragrant flowers, but working busily, like true women, for 
•the lords whom they delighted to honor. One sat plaiting palm 
fibres into a basket ; the other was boring the stem of a huge 
milk-tree, which rose like some mighty column on the right 
hand of the lawn, its broad canopy of leaves unseen through 
the dense underwood pf laurel and bamboo, and betokened only 


424 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


by the rustle far aloft, and by the mellow shade in which it 
bathed the whole delicious scene. 

Amyas stood silent* for awhile, partly from noble shame at 
seeing two Christian men thus fallen of their own self-will ; 
partly because — and he could not but confess that — a solemn 
calm brooded above that glorious place, to break through which 
seemed sacrilege even while he felt it duty. Such, he thought, 
was Paradise of old ; such our first parents’ bridal bower ! 
Ah ! if man had not fallen, he too might have dwelt forever in 
such a home — with whom ? Pie started, and shaking off the 
spell, advanced sword in hand. 

The women saw | him, and sprang to their feet, caught up 
their long pocunas,’ and leapt like deer, each in front of her 
beloved. There thdy stood, the deadly tubes pressed to their 
lips, eying him like' tigresses who protect their young, while 
every slender limb quavered, not with terror, but with rage. 

Amyas paused, half in admiration, half in prudence ; for one 
rash step was death. | But, rushing through the canes, Ayaca- 
pora sprang to the front, and shrieked to them in Indian. At 
the sight of the prophetess the women wavered, and Amyas, 
putting on as gentle a face as he could, stepped forward, assur- 
ing them in his best Jndian that he would harm no one. 

‘ Ebs worthy ! Pap-acombe ! Are you grown such savages 
already, that you have forgotten your Captain } Stand' up, 
men, and salute ! ’ ! 

Ebsworthy sprang to his feet, obeyed mechanically, and then 
slipped behind his bride again, as if in shame. The dreamer 
turned his head languidly, raised his hand to his forehead, and 
then returned to his contemplation. 

Amyas rested the point of his sword on the ground, and his 
hands upon the hilt, and looked sadly and solemnly upon the 
pair. Ebsworthy broke the silence, half-reproachfully, half 
trying to bluster away the coming storm. 

‘ Well, noble Captain, so you’ve hunted out us poor fellows ; 
and want to drag us back again in a halter, I suppose ? ’ 

‘ I came to look for Christians, and I find heathens ; for men, 
and I find swine. I shall leave the heathens to their wilderness, 
and the swine to their trough. Parracombe ! ’ 

‘ He’s too happy to answer you. Sir. And why not ? What 
do you want of us ? ^ Our two years’ vow is out, and we are 
free men now.’ , ‘- 

‘Free to become like , the beasts that perish .? You are the 
Queen’s servants still, and in her name I charge you — ’ 

‘ Free to be happy,’ interrupted the man. ‘ With the best of 
wives, the best of food, a warmer bed^ than a duke’s, and 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


425 


a finer garden than an emperor’s. As for clothes, why the 
plague should a man wear them where he don’t need them ? 
As for gold, what’s the use., of it where Heaven sends every- 
thing ready-made to your hands ? Hearken, Captain Leigh. 
You’ve been a good captain to me, and I’ll repay you with a 
bit of sound advice. Give up your gold-hunting, and toiling 
and moiling after honor and glory, and copy us. Take that 
fair maid behind you there to wife ; pitch here with us ; and 
see if you are not happier in one day than ever you were in all 
your life before ? ’ 

‘ You are drunk, sirrah ! William Parracombe ! Will you 
speak to me, or shall I heave jmu into the stream to sober 
you ? ’ 

‘ Who calls William Parracombe ? ’ answered a sleepy voice. 

‘ 1, fool ! — your Captain.’ 

‘ I am not William Parracombe. He is dead long ago of 
hunger, and labor, and heavy sorrow, and will never see Bide- 
ford town any more. He is turned into an Indian now ; and 
he is to sleep, sleep, sleep for a hundred years, till he gets his 
strength again, poor fellow — ’ 

‘ Awake, then, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, 
and Christ shall give thee light! A christened Englishman, 
and living thus the life of a beast ? ’ 

‘ Christ shall give thee light ? ’ answered the same unnatural 
abstracted voice. ‘ Yes ; so the parsons say. And they say, 
too, that He is Lord of heaven and earth. I should have thought 
His light was as near us here as anywhere, and nearer, too, by 
the look of the place. Look round 1 ’ said he, waving a lazy 
hand, ‘and see the works of God, and the place of Paradise, 
whither poor weary souls go home and rest, after their masters 
in the wicked world have used them up, with labor and sorrow, 
and made them wade knee-deep in blood — I’m tired of blood, 
and tired of gold. I’ll march no more ; I’ll fight no more ; I’ll 
hunger no more after vanity and vexation of spirit. What 
shall 1 get by ’it.? Maybe I shall leave my bones in the wilder- 
ness. 1 can but do that here. Maybe 1 shall get home with a 
few pezos^ to die an old cripple in some stinking hovel, that a 
monkey would scorn to lodge in here. You may go on ; it’ll 
pay you. You may be a rich man, and a knight, and live in a 
fine house, and drink good wine, and go to Court, and torment 
your soul with trying to get more, when you’ve got too much 
already ; plotting and planning to scramble upon your neigh- 
bor’s shoulders, as they all did — Sir Richard, and Mr. Raleigh, 
atnl Chichester, and poor dear old Sir Warham, and all of 
them, that I used to watch when I lived before. They were no 
3(3* 


426 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


happier than I was jthen; I’ll warrant they are no happier 
now. Go your ways, Captain ; climb to glory upon some 
other backs than oursj and leave us here in peace, alone with 
God and God’s woods:, and the good wives that God has given 
us, to play a little like school children. It’s long since I’ve had 
play hours; and now I’ll be a little child once more, with the 
flowers, and the singing birds, and the silver fishes in the stream, 
that are at peace, and think no harm, and want neither clothes, nor 
money, nor knighthood, nor peerage, but just take what comes ; 
and their Heavenly Father feedeth them, and Solomon in all his 
glory was not arrayed like one of these — and will he not much 
more feed us, that are of more value than many sparrows ? ’ 

‘ And will you live here, shut out from all Christian ordi- 
nances'? ’ 

‘ Christian ordinances ? Adam and Eve had no parsons in 
Paradise. The Lord was their priest, and the Lord was their 
shepherd, and He’ll be ours too. But go your ways. Sir, and 
send up Sir John Brimblecombe, and let him marry us here 
Church fashion (though we have sworn troth to each other 
before God already), and let him give us the Holy Sacrament 
once and for all, and then read the funeral service over us, and 
go his ways, and count us for dead. Sir — for dead we are to 
the wicked worthless world we came out of three years ago. 
And when the Lord chooses to call us, the little birds will cover 
us with leaves, as they did the babes in the wood, and fresher 
flowers will grow out of our graves. Sir, than out of yours, in 
that bare Northam churchyard there beyond the weary, weary, 
weary sea.’ 

His voice died away to a murmur, and his head sank on his 
breast. 

Amyas stood spell-bound. The effect of the narcotic was all 
but miraculous in his eyes. The sustained eloquence, the novel 
richness of diction in one seemingly drowned in sensual sloth, 
were, in his eyes, the possession of some evil spirit. And yet 
he could not answer the Evil One. His English' heart, full of 
the divine instinct of duty and public spirit, told him that it must 
be a lie : but how to prove it a lie ? And he stood for full ten 
minutes searching for an answer, which seemed to fly farther 
and farther off the more he sought for it. 

His eye glanced upon Ayacanora. The two girls were whis- 
pering to her smilingly. He saw one of them glance a look 
toward him, and then say something, which raised a beautiful 
blush in the maiden’s face. With a playful blow at the speaker, 
she turned away. Amyas knew instinctively that they were 
giving her the same advice as Ebsworthy had given to him. Oh, 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 


427 


how beautiful she was ! Might not the renegades have some 
reason on their side after all ? 

He shuddered at the thought : but he could not shake It off. 
It glided in like some gaudy snake, and wreathed its coils 
round all his heart and brain. He drew back to the other side 
of the lawn, and thought and thought 

Should he ever get home ? If he did, might he not get home 
a beggar.? Beggar or rich, he would still have to face his 
mother, to go through that meeting, to tell that tale, perhaps, 
to hear those reproaches, the forecast of which had weighed on 
him like a dark thunder-cloud for two weary years ; to wipe out 
which by some desperate deed of glory he had wandered the 
wilderness and wandered in vain 

Could he not settle here .? He need not be a savage. He 
and his might Christianize, civilize, teach equal law, mercy in 
war, chivalry to women ; found a community which might be 
hereafter as strong a barrier against the encroachments of the 
Spaniard, as Manoa itself would have been. Who knew the 
wealth of the surrounding forests ? Even if there were no 
gold, there were boundless vegetable treasures. What might 
he not export down the rivers .? This might be the nucleus of a 
great commercial settlement 

And yet, was even' that worth while .? To settle here only 
to torment his soul with fresh schemes, fresh ambitions ; not to 
rest, but only to change one labor for another .? Was not your 
dreamer right .? Did they not all need rest.? What if they 
each sat down among the flowers, beside an Indian bride .? They 
might live' like Christians, while they lived like the birds of 
heaven 

What a dead silence ! He looked up and around ; the birds 
had ceased to chirp ; the paroquets were hiding behind the 
leaves ; the monkeys were clustered motionless upon the 
highest twigs ; only out of the far depths of the forest, the 
campanero gave its solemn toll, once, twice, thrice, like a 
great death-knell rolling down from far cathedral towers. Was 
it an omen .? He looked up hastily at Ayacanora. She was 
watching him earnestly. Heavens ! was she waiting for his 
decision .? Both dropped their eyes. The decision was not to 
come from them. 

A rustle ! a roar ! a shriek ! and Amyas lifted his eyes in 
time to see a huge dark bar shoot from the crag above the 
dreamer’s head, among the group of girls. 

A dull crash, as the group flew asunder ; and in the midst, 
upon the ground, the tawny limbs of one were writhing beneath 
the fangs of a black jaguar, the rarest and most terrible of the 


428 


HOW AMYAS WAS 


forest kings. Of one But of which? Was it Ayacanora? 
And sword in hand, Amyas rushed madly forward : before he 
reached the spot, those tortured limbs were still. 

It was not Ayacanora ; for with a shriek which rang through 
the woods, the wretched dreamer, wakened thus at last, sprang 
up and felt for his sword. Fool ! he had left if in his hammock! 
Screaming the name of his dead bride, he rushed on the jaguar, 
and it crouched above its prey, and seizing its head with teeth 
and nails, worried it, in the ferocity of his madness, like a 
mastiff dog. 

The brute wrenched its head from his grasp, and raised its 
dreadful paw. Another moment, and the husband’s corpse 
would have lain by the wife’s. 

But high in air gleamed Amyas’s blade ; down, with all the 
weight of his huge body and strong arm, fell that most trusty 
steel ; the head of the jaguar dropped grinning on its victim’s 
corpse ; — 

‘ And all stood still, who saw him fall, 

While men might count a score.’ 

‘ Oh, Lord Jesus,’ said Amyas to himself, ‘ thou hast answered 
the devil for me ! And this is the selfish rest for which 1 would 
have bartered the rest which comes by working where thou hast 
put me ! ’ 

They bore away .the lithe corpse into the forest, and buried 
it under soft moss and virgin mould ; and so the fair clay was 
transfigured into fairer flowers, and the poor, gentle, untaught 
spirit returned to God who gave it. 

And then Amyas went sadly and silently back again, and 
Parracombe walked after him, like one who walks in sleep. 

Ebsworthy, sobered by the shock, entreated to come too: 
but Amyas forbade him gently, — 

‘ No, lad, you are forgiven. God forbid that I should judge 
you or any man. Sir John shall come up and marry you ; and 
then, if it still be your will to stay, the Lord forgive you, if you 
be wrong; in the meanwhile, we will leave with you all that 
we can spare. Stay here, and pray to God to make you, and 
me too, wiser men.’ 

And so Amyas departed. He had come out stern and proud ; 
but he came back again like a little child. 

Three days after, Parracombe was dead. Once in camp, he 
seemed unable to eat or move, and having received absolution 
and communion from good Sir John, faded away without disease 
or pain, ‘ babbling of green fields,’ and murmuring the name 
of his lost Indian bride. 


TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 429 

Amyas, too, sought ghostly counsel of Sir John, and told him 
all which had passed through his mind. 

‘ It was indeed a temptation of Diabolus,’ said that simple 
sage ; for he is by his very name the divider, who sets man 
against man, and tempts one to care only for oneself, and 
forget kin, and country, and duty, and Queen. But you have 
resisted him. Captain Leigh, like a true-born Englishman, as 
you always are, and he has fled from you. But that is no reason 
why we should not flee from him too ; and so T think the sooner 
we are out of this place, and at work again, the better for all 
our souls.’ 

To which Amyas most devoutly said, ‘ Amen ! ’ If Ayaca- 
nora were the daughter of ten thousand Incas, he must get out of 
her way as soon as possible. 

The next day he announced his intention to march once more ; 
and to his delight found the men ready enough to move towards 
the Spanish settlements. One thing they needed ; gunpowder 
for their muskets. But that they must make as they went 
along ; that is, if they could get the materials. Charcoal they 
could procure, enough to set the world on fire ; but nitre they 
had not yet seen ; perhaps they should find it among the hills ; 
while, as for sulphur, any brave man could get that where there 
were volcanoes. Who had not heard how one of Cortes’s Span- 
iards, in like need, was lowered in a basket down the smoking 
crater of the Popocatepetl, till he had gathered sulphur enough 
to conquer an empire } And what a Spaniard could do, an 
Englishman could do, or they would know the reason why. 
And if they found none — why cloth-yard arrows had done 
Englishmen’s work many a time already, and they could do it 
again, not to mention those same blow-guns and their arrows of 
curare poison, which, though they might be useless against 
Spaniard’s armor, were far more valuable than muskets for 
procuring food, from the simple fact of their silence. 

One thing remained ; to invite their Indian friends to join 
them. And that was done in due form the next day. 

Ayacanora was consulted, of course ; and by the Piache, too, 
who was glad enough to be rid of the rival preacher, and his 
unpleasantly good news that men need not worship the devil, 
because there was a good God above them. The maiden sang 
most melodious assent ; the whole tribe echoed it ; and all went 
smoothly enough, till the old Cacique observed, that, before 
starting, a compact should be made between the allies, as to 
their share of the booty. 

Nothing could be more reasonable ; and Amyas asked him to 
name his terms. 


430 X - HOW AMYAS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL. 

‘You take the' gold, and we will take the prisoners.’ 

‘ And what will .you do with them ? ’ asked Amyas, who 
recollected poor John Oxenham’s hapless compact made in like 
case. 

‘ Eat them,’ quoth the Cacique, innocently enough. 

Amyas whistled. 

‘ Humph ! ’ said Cary. ‘ The old proverb comes true, — 
“ the more the merrier ; but the fewer the better fare.” I 
think we will do without our red friends for this time.’ 

Ayacanora, who had been preaching war like a very Boadicea, 
was much vexed. 

‘ Do you too want to dine off roast Spaniards ? ’ asked Amyas. 

She shook her head, and denied the imputation with much 
disgust. 

Amyas was relieved ; he had shrunk from joining the thought 
of so fair a creature, however degraded, with the horrors of 
cannibalism. 

But the Cacique was a man of business, and held out stanchly. 

‘ Is it fair ? ’ he asked. ‘ The white man loves gold ; and he gets 
it. The poor Indian, what use is gold to him ? He only wants 
something to eat, and he must eat his enemies. What else will 
pay him for going so far through the forests hungry and thirsty : 
You wall get all, and the Omaguas will get nothing.’ 

The argument was unanswerable ; and the next day they 
started without the Indians, while John Brimblecombe heaved 
many an honest sigh at leaving them to darkness, the devil, and 
the holy trumpet. 

And Ayacanora ? 

When their departure was determined, she shut herself up in 
her hut, and appeared no more. Great was the weeping, howl- 
ing, and leave-taking on the part of the simple Indians, and 
loud the entreaties to come again, bring them a message from 
Amalivaca’s daughter beyond the seas, and help them to re- 
cover their lost land of Papamene ; but Ayacanora took no part 
in them ; and Amyas left her, w'ondering at her absence, but 
joyful and light-hearted at having escaped the rocks of the 
Sirens, and being at work once more. 


V- 


HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


431 


i 

I 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN. 

‘ God will relent, and quit thee all thy debt. 

Who ever more approves, and more accepts 
Him who imploring mercy sues for life. 

Than who self-rigorous chooses death as due ; 

Which argues over-just, and self-displeased 
For self-otfence, more than for God offended.’ 

Samson Agonisies. 

i A FORTNIGHT or more has passed in severe toil ; but not more 
j severe than they have endured many a time before. Bidding 
I) farewell once and for ever to the green ocean of the eastern 
- plains, they have crossed the Cordillera ; they have taken a 
longing glance at the city of Santa Fe, lying in the midst of 
rich gardens on its lofty mountain plateau, and have seen, as 
was to be expected, that it was far too large a place for any 
attempt of theirs. But they have not altogether thrown away 
I their time. Their Indian lad has discovered that a gold-train 
is going down from Santa Fe toward the Magdalena ; and they 
are waiting for it beside the miserable rut which serves for a 
road, encamped in a forest of oaks which would make them 
, almost fancy themselves back again in Europe, were it not for 
the tree-ferns which form the undergrowth; and were it not, 
too, for the deep gorges opening at their very feet ; in which, 
while their brows are swept by the cool breezes of a temperate 
j zone, they can see far below, dim through their everlasting 
( vapor-bath of rank hot steam, the mighty forms and gorgeous 
, colors of the trapic forest. 

j They have pitched their camp among the tree-ferns, above 
1 a spot where the path winds along a steep hill-side, with a sheer 
■ cliff below of many a hundred feet. There was a road there 
once, perhaps, when Cundinamarca was a civilized and culti- 
vated kingdom ; but all which Spanish misrule has left of it 
J are a few steps slipping from their places at the bottom of a 
narrow ditch of mud. It has gone the way of the aqueducts, 



432 


HOW THEY TOOK 


and bridges, and post-houses, the gardens and the llama-flocks 
of that strange empire. In the mad search for gold, every art 
of civilization has fallen to decay, save architecture alone ; and 
that survives only in the splendid cathedrals which have risen 
upon the ruins of the temples of the Sun, in honor of a milder 
Pantheon ; if, indeed, that can be called a milder one which 
demands (as we have seen already) human sacrifices, unknown 
to the gentle nature-worship of the Incas. 

And now, the rapid tropic vegetation has reclaimed its old 
domains, and Amyas and his crew are as utterly alone, within 
a few miles of an important Spanish settlement, as they would 
be in the solitudes of the Orinoco or the Amazon. 

In the meanwhile, all their attempts to find sulphur and nitre 
have been unavailing; and they have been forced to depend 
after all (much to Yeo’s disgust) upon their swords and arraws. 
Be it so : Drake took Nombre de Dios and the gold-train there 
with no better weapons ; and they may do as much. 

So, having blocked up the road above by felling a large tree 
across it, they sit there among the flowers chewing coca, in 
default of food and drink, and meditating among themselves 
the cause of a mysterious roar, which has been heard nightly 
in their wake ever since they left the banks of the Meta. Ja- 
guar it is not, nor monkey ; it is unlike any sound they know ; 
and why should it follow them ? However, they are in the land 
of wonders ; and, moreover, the gold-train is far more important 
than any noise. 

At last, up from beneath there was a sharp crack and a loud 
cry. The crack was neither the snapping of a branch, nor the 
tapping of a woodpecker; the cry was neither the scream of 
the parrot, nor the howl of the monkey, — 

‘ That was a whip’s crack,’ said Yeo, ‘ and a woman’s wail. 
They are close here, lads ! ’ - 

‘ A woman’s ? Do they drive women in their gangs ? ’ asked 
Amyas. 

‘ VVhy not, the brutes? There they are. Sir. Did you see 
their basnets glitter ? ’ 

‘ Men ! ’ said Amyas, in a low voice, ‘ I trust you all not to 
shoot till I do. Then give them one arrow, out swords, and at 
them. Pass the word along.’ 

Up they came, slowly, and all hearts beat loud at their 
coming. 

First, about twenty soldiers, only one-half of whom were on 
foot; the other half being borne, incredible as it may seem, 
each in a chair on the back of a single Indian, while those who 
marched had consigned their heaviest armor and their arque- 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


433 


buses into the hands of attendant slaves, who were each pricked 
on at will by the pikes of the soldier behind them. 

‘ The men are mad to let th'eir ordnance out of their hands.’ 

‘ Oh, Sir, an Indian will pray to an arquebus not to shoot him ; 
be sure their artillery is safe enough,’ said Yeo. 

‘ Look at the proud villains,’ whispered another, ‘ to make 
dumb beasts of human creatures like that!’ 

‘ Ten shot,’ counted the business-like Amyas, ‘ and ten pikes ; 
Will can tackle them up above.’ 

Last of this troop came some inferior officer, also in his chair, 
who, as he went slowly up the hill, with his face turned toward 
the gang which followed, drew, every other second, the cigar 
from his lips, to inspirit them with those pious ejaculations to 
the various objects of his worship, divine, human, anatomic, 
wooden, and textile, which earned for the pious Spaniards of 
the sixteenth century the uncharitable imputation of being at 
once the most fetiche-ridden idolaters, and the most abominable 
swearers of all Europeans. 

‘The blasphemous dog!’ said Yeo, fumbling at his bow- 
string, as if he longed to send an arrow through him. But 
Amyas had hardly laid his finger on the impatient veteran’s 
ann, when another procession followed, which made them for- 
get all else. 

A sad and hideous sight it was ; yet one too common even 
then in those remoter districts, where the humane edicts were 
disregarded, which the prayers of Dominican friars (to their 
everlasting honor be it spoken) had wrung from, the Spanish 
sovereigns ; and which the legislation of that most wise, vir- 
tuous, and heroic Inquisitor (paradoxical as the words may 
seem) Pedro de la Gasca, had carried into effect in Peru, — - 
futile and tardy alleviations of cruelties and miseries unexam- 
pled in the history of Christendom, or perhaps on earth, save 
in the conquests of Sennacherib and Zinghis-Khan. But the 
frontiers, where negroes were imported to endure the toil which 
was found fatal to the Indian, and all Indian tribes convicted 
(or suspected) of cannibalism, were hunted down for the salva- 
tion of their souls and the enslavement of their bodies, such 
scenes as these were still too common ; and, indeed, if we are 
to judge from Humboldt’s impartial account, were not very 
much amended even at the close of the last century, in those 
much-boasted Jesuit missions in which (as many of them as 
existed anywhere but on paper) military tyranny was super- 
added to monastic, and the Gospel preached with fire and sword, 
almost as shamelessly as by the first Conquistadores. 

A line of Indians, Negroes, and Zambos, naked, emaciated, 
37 


434 


HOW THEY TOOK 


scarred with whips and fetters, and chained together by their 
left wrists, toiled upwards, panting and perspiring under the 
burden of a basket held up by a strap which passed across their 
foreheads. Yeo’s sneer was but too just ; there were not only 
old men and youths among them, but women ; slender young 
girls, mothers with children running at their knee ; and, at the 
sight, a low murmur of indignation rose from the ambushed 
Englishmen, worthy of the free and righteous hearts of those 
days, when Raleigh could appeal to man and God, on the 
ground of a common humanity, in behalf of the outraged 
heathens of the New World; when Englishmen still knew that 
man was man, and that the instinct of freedom was the right- 
eous voice of God ; ere the hapless seventeenth century had 
brutalized them also, by bestowing on them, amid a hundred 
other bad legacies, the fatal gift of negro slaves. 

But the first forty, so Amyas counted, bore on their backs a 
burden which made all, perhaps, but him and Yeo, forget even 
the wretches who bore it. Each basket contained a square 
package of carefully corded hide ; the look whereof friend 
Amyas knew full well. 

‘ What’s in they. Captain .? ’ 

‘Gold!’ And at that magic word all eyes were strained 
greedily forward, and such a rustle followed, that Amyas, in the 
very face of detection, had to whisper, — 

‘ Be men, be men, or you will spoil all yet !’ 

The last twenty, or so, of the Indians, bore larger baskets, 
but more lightly freighted, seemingly with manioc, and maize- 
bread, and other food for the party ; and after them came, with 
their bearers and attendants, just twenty soldiers more, followed 
by the officer in charge, who smiled away in his chair, and 
twirled two huge mustachios, thinking of nothing less than of 
the English arrows which were itching to be away and through 
his ribs. The ambush was complete ; the only question, how 
and when to begin. 

Amyas had a shrinking, which all will understand, from 
drawing bow in cool blood on men so utterly unsuspicious and 
defenceless, even though in the very act of devilish cruelty, — 
for devilish cruelty it was, as three or four drivers armed with 
whips, lingered up and down the slowly-staggering file of 
Indians, and avenged every moment’s lagging, even every 
stumble, by a blow of the cruel manati-hide, which cracked like 
a pistol-shot against the naked limbs of the silent and uncom- 
plaining victim. 

Suddenly the casus helli^ as usually happens, arose of its own 
accord. 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


435 


The last but one of the chained line was an old gray-headed 
man, followed by a slender, graceful girl of some eighteen 
years old, and Amyas’s heart yearned over them as they came 
up. Just as they passed, the foremost of the file had rounded 
the corner above; there was a bustle, and a voice shouted, 

‘ Halt, Senors ! there is a tree across the path ! ’ 

‘ A tree across the path ! ’ bellowed the officer, with a variety 
of passionate addresses to the Mother of Heaven, the fiends of 
hell. Saint Jago of Compostella, and various other personages, 
while the line of trembling Indians, told to halt above, and 
driven on by blows below, surged up and down upon the ruin- 
ous steps of the Indian road, until the poor old man fell grovel- 
ling on his face. 

The officer leaped down, and hurried upward to see what 
had happened. Of course, he came across the old man. 

‘ Sin peccado concehida ! Grandfather of Beelzebub, is this 
a place to lie worshipping your fiends?’ and he pricked the 
prostrate wretch with the point of his sword. 

The old man tried to rise : but the weight on his head was 
too much for him ; he fell again, and lay motionless. 

The driver applied the manati-hide across his loins, once, 
twice, with fearful force ; but even that specific was useless. 

‘ Gastado, Senor Capitan,’ said he, with a shrug. ‘ Used up. 
He has been failing these three months !’ 

' ‘What does the intendant mean, by sending me- out with 
worn-out cattle like these? Forward there!’ shouted he. 
‘ Clear away the tree, Senorg’, and I’ll soon clear the chain. 
Hold it up, Pedrillo ! ’ 

The driver held up the chain, which was fastened to the old 
man’s wrist. The officer stepped back, and flourished round 
his head a Toledo blade, whose beauty made Arnyas break the 
Tenth Commandment on the spot. 

The man was a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered, high-bred 
man ; and Amyas thought that he was going to display the 
strength of his arm, and the temper of his blade, in severing 
the chain at one stroke. 

Even he was not prepared for the recondite fancies of a 
Spanish adventurer, worthy son or nephew of those first con- 
querors who used to try the keenness of their swords upon the 
living bodies of Indians, and regale themselves at meals with 
the odor of roasting Caciques. 

The blade gleamed in the air, once, twice, and fell : not on 
the chain, but on the wrist which it fettered. There was a 
shriek — a crimson flash — and the chain and its prisoner were 
parted indeed. 


436 


now THEY TOOK 


One moment more, and Amyas’s arrow would have been 
through the throat of the murderer, who paused, regarding his 
woikmanship with a satisfied smile ; but vengeance was not to 
come from him. 

Quick and fierce as a tiger-cat, the girl sprung on the ruffian, 
and with the intense strength of passion, clasped him in her 
arms, and leaped with him from the narrow ledge into the 
abyss below. 

There was a rush, a shout ; all faces were bent over the 
precipice. The girl hung by her chained wrist : the officer 
was gone. There was a moment’s awful silence ; and then 
Amyas heard his body crashing through the tree-tops far below. 

‘ Haul her up ! Hew her in pieces ! Burn the witch !’ and 
the driver seizing the chain, pulled at it with all his might, 
while all springing from their chairs, stooped over the brink. 

Now was the time for Amyas ! Heaven had delivered them 
into his hands. Swift and sure, at ten yards off, his arrow 
rushed through the body of the driver, and then, with a roar as 
of the leaping lion, he sprang like an avenging angel into the 
midst of the astonished ruffians. 

His first thought was for the girl. Tn a moment, by sheer 
strength, he had jerked her safely up into the road ; while the 
Spaniards recoiled right and left, fancying him for the moment 
some mountain giant or supernatural foe. His hurrah unde- 
ceived them in an instant, and a cry of ‘ English ! Lutheran 
dogs ! ’ arose, but arose too late. The men of Devon had 
followed their captain’s lead ; a storm of arrows left five 
Spaniards dead, and a dozen more wounded, and down leapt 
Salvation Yeo, his white hair streaming behind him, with twenty 
good swords more, and the work of death began. 

The Spaniards fought like lions ; but they had no time to fix 
their arquebuses on the crutches ; no room in that narrow path, 
to use their pikes. The English had the wall of them, and to 
have the wall there, was to have the foe’s life at their mercy. 
Five desperate minutes, and not a living Spaniard stood upon 
those steps; and certainly no living one lay in the green abyss 
below. Two only, who were behind the rest, happening to be 
in full armor, escaped without mortal wound, and fied down the 
hill again. 

‘After them! Simon Evans and Michael Heard; and catch 
them if they run a league.’ 

The two long and lean Clovelly men, active as deer from 
forest-training, ran two feet for the Spaniards’ one ; and in ten 
minutes returned, having done their work ; while Amyas and 
his men hurried past the Indians, to help Cary and the party 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


437 


forward, where shouts and musket-shots announced a sharp 
affray. 

Their arrival settled the matter. All the Spaniards fell but 
three or four, who scrambled down the crannies of the cliff. 

‘ Let not one of them escape ! Slay them as Israel slew 
Amalek ! ’ cried Yeo, as he bent over ; and ere the wretches 
could reach a place of shelter, an arrow was quivering in each 
body, as it, rolled lifeless down the rocks. 

‘ Now, then ! Loose the Indians ! ’ 

They found armorers’ tools on one of the dead bodies, and 
it was done. ' 

‘ We are your friends,’ said Amyas. ‘ All we ask is, that 
you shall help us to carry this gold down to the Magdalena, and 
then you are free.’ 

Some few of the younger grovelled at his knees and kissed 
his feet, hailing him as the child of the Sun : but the most part 
kept a stolid indifference, and when freed from their fetters, 
sat quietly down where thef^ stood, staring into vacancy. The 
iron had entered too deeply into their soul. They seemed past 
hope, enjoyment, even understanding. 

But the young girl, who was last of all in the line, as soon 
as she was loosed, sprang to her father’s body, speaking no 
word, lifted it in her thin arms, laid it across her knees, kissed 
the fallen lips, stroked the furrowed cheeks, murmured inar- 
ticulate sounds like the cooing of the woodland dove, of which 
none knew the meaning but she, and he who heard not, for his 
soul had long since fled. Suddenly the truth flashed on her ; 
silent as ever, she drew one long heaving breath, and rose 
erect, the body in her arms. 

Another moment, and she had leaped into the abyss. 

They watched her dark and slender limbs, twined closely 
round the old man’s corpse, turn over, and over, and over, till 
a crash among the leaves, and a scream among the birds, told 
that she had reached the trees; and the green roof hid her 
from their view. 

‘ Brave lass ! ’ shouted a sailor. 

‘ The Lord forgive her ! ’ said Yeo. * But, your worship, 
we must have these rascals’ ordnance.’ 

‘ And their clothes too, Yeo, if we wish to get down the 
Magdalena unchallenged. Now listen, my masters all ! We 
have won, by God’s good grace, gold enough to serve us the 
rest of our lives, and that without losing a single man \ and 
may yet Vvin more, if we be wise, and He thinks good. But 
oh, my friends, remember Mr, Oxenham and his crew ; and do 
87 * 


438 


HOW THEY TOOK 


not make God’s gift our ruin, by faithlessness, or greediness, 
or any mutinous haste.’ 

‘ You shall find none in us ! ’ cried several men. We know 
your worship. We can trust our general.’ 

‘ Thank God ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ Now then, it will be no 
shame or sin to make the Indians carry it, saving the women, 
whom God forbid we should burden. But we must pass through 
the very heart of the Spanish settlements, and by the town of 
St. Martha itself. So the clothes and weapons of these Span- 
iards we must have, let it cost us what labor it may. How many 
lie in the road .? ’ 

‘ Thirteen here, and about ten up above,’ said Cary. 

‘Then there are near twenty missing. Who will volunteer 
to go down over the cliff, and bring up the spoil of them ? ' 

‘ I, and I, and I ; ’ and a dozen stepped out, as they did al- 
ways when Amyas wanted anything done ; for the simple rea- 
son, that they knew that he mea^t to help at the doing of it 
himself. 

‘ Very well, then, follow me. Sir John, take the Indian lad 
for your interpreter, and try and comfort the souls of these 
poor heathens. Tell them that they shall all be free.’ 

‘ Why, who is that comes up the road 

All eyes were turned in the direction of which he spoke. 
And, wonder of wonders ! up came none other than Ayaca- 
nora herself, blow-gun in hand, bow on back, and bedecked in 
all her feather garments, which last were rather the worse for 
a fortnight’s woodland travel. 

All stood mute with astonishment, as, seeing Amyas, she 
uttered a cry of joy, quickened her pace into a run, and at last 
fell panting and exhausted at his feet. 

‘ 1 have found you ! ’ she said. ‘ You ran away from me, but 
you could not escape me ! ’ And she fawned round Amyas 
like a dog who has found his master, and then sat down on the 
bank, and burst into wild sobs. 

‘ God help us ! ’ said Amyas, clutching his hair, as he looked 
down upon the beautiful weeper. ‘ What am I to do with her, 
over and above all these poor heathens ? ’ 

But there was no time to be lost, and over the cliff he scram- 
bled ; while the girl, seeing that the main body of the English 
remained, sat down on a point of rock to watch him. 

After half-an-hour’s hard work, the weapons, clothes and 
armor of the fallen Spaniards were hauled up the cliff, and 
distributed in bundles among the men ^ the rest of the corpses 
were thrown oyer the precipice, and they started again upon 
their road toward the Magdalena^ while Yeo snorted like a 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 439 

war-horse, who smells the battle, at the delight of once more 
handling powder and ball. 

‘ We can face the world now. Sir.? Why not go back and 
try Santa Fe, after all ? ’ 

But Amyas thought that enough was as good as a feast, and 
they held on downwards, while the slaves followed, without a 
sign of gratitude, but meekly obedient to their new masters, 
and testifying now and then by a sign or a grunt, their surprise 
at not being beaten, or made to carry their captors. Some, 
however, caught sight of the little calabashes of coca which 
the English carried. That woke them from their torpor, and 
they began coaxing abjectly (and not in vain) for a taste of 
that miraculous herb, which would not only make food unneces- 
sary, and enable their panting lungs to endure that keen moun- 
tain air ; but would rid them, for awhile at least, of the fallen 
Indian’s most unpitying foe, the malady of thought. 

As the cavalcade turned the corner of the mountain, they 
paused for one last look at the scene of that fearful triumph. 
Lines of vultures were already streaming out of infinite space, 
as if created suddenly for the occasion. A few hours, and 
there would be no trace of that fierce affray, but a few white 
bones amid untrodden beds of flowers. 

And new Amyas had time to ask Ayacanora the meaning of 
this her strange appearance. He wished her anywhere but 
where she was : but now that she was here, what heart could 
be so hard as not to take pity on the poor wild thing ? And 
Amyas, as he spoke to her, had, perhaps, a tenderness in his 
tone, from very fear of hurting her, which he had never used 
before. Passionately she told him how she had followed on 
their track day and night, and had every evening made sounds, 
as loud as she dared, in hopes of their hearing her, and either 
waiting for her, or coming back to see what caused the noise. 

Amyas now recollected the strange roaring which had fol- 
lowed them. 

‘ Noises ? What did you make them with .? ’ 

Ayacanora lifted her finger with an air of most self-satisfied 
mystery ; and then drew cautiously from under her feather 
cloak an object at which Amyas had hard work to keep his 
countenance. 

‘ Look ! ’ whispered she, as if half afraid that the thing itself 
should hear her. ‘ I have it — the holy trumpet ! ’ 

There it was verily, that mysterious bone of contention ; a 
handsome earthen tube some two feet long, neatly glazed, and 
painted with quaint grecques and figures of animals ; a relict 
evidently of some civilization now extinct. 


440 


HOW THEY TOOK 


Brimblecombe rubbed his little fat hands. ‘ Brave maid ! 
you have cheated Satan this time,’ quoth he : while Yeo advised 
that the ‘ idolatrous relic ’ should be forthwith ‘ hove over cliff.’ 

‘ Let be,’ said Amyas. ‘ What is the meaning of this, Aya- 
canora ? And why have you followed us ? ’ 

She told a long^ story, from which Amyas picked up, as far 
as he could understand her, that that trumpet had been for years 
the torment of her life ; the one thing in the tribe^ superior to 
her ; the one thing which she was not allowed to see, because, 
forsooth, she was a woman. So she determined to show them 
that a woman was as good as a man ; and hence her hatred of 
marriage, and her Amazonian exploits. But still the Piache 
would not show her that trumpet, or tell her where it was : and 
as for going to seek it, even she feared the superstitious wrath 
of the tribe at such a profanation. But the day after the Eng- 
glish went, the Piache chose to express his joy at their daparture ; 
whereon, as was to be expected, a fresh explosion between 
master and pupil, which ended, she confessed, in her burning 
the old rogue’s hut over his head, from which he escaped with 
loss of all his conjuring-tackle, and fled raging into the woods, 
vowing that he would carry off the trumpet to the neighboring 
tribe. Whereon by a sudden impulse, the young lady took 
plenty of coca, her weapons, and her feathers, started on his 
trail, and ran him to earth just as he was unveiling the precious 
mystery. At which sight (she confessed) she was horribly 
afraid, and half inclined to run : but, gathering courage from 
the thought that the white men used to laugh at the whole matter, 
she rushed upon the hapless conjurer, and bore off her prize in 
triumph ; and there it was ! 

‘ I hope you have not killed him ? ’ said Amyas. 

‘I did beat him a little ; but I thought you would not let me 
kill him.’ 

Amyas was half amused with her confession of his authority 
over her : but she went on, — 

‘ And then I dare not go back to the Indians ; so I was forced 
to come after you.’ • 

‘ And is that, then, your only reason for coming after us ^ ’ 
asked stupid Amyas. 

He had touched some secret chord — though what it was he 
was too busy to inquire. The girl drew herself up proudly, 
blushing scarlet, and said, — 

‘ You never tell lies. Do you think that I would tell lies ? ’ 

On which she fell to the rear, and followed them steadfastly, 
speaking to no one, but evidently determined to follow them to 
the world’s end. 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


441 


They soon left the high road ; and for several days held on 
downwards, hewing their path slowly and painfully through the 
thick underwood. On the evening of the fourth day, they had 
reached the margin of a river, at a point where it seemed broad 
and still enough for navigation. For those three days they had 
not seen a trace of human beings, and the spot seemed lonely 
enough for them to encamp without fear of discovery, and 
begin the making of their canoes. They began to spread them- 
selves along the stream, in search of the -soft-wooded trees 
proper for their purpose ; but hardly had their search began, 
when, in the midst of a dense thicket, they came upon a sight 
which filled them with astonishment. Beneath a honeycombed 
clitr, which supported one enormous cotton-tree, was a spot of 
some thirty yards square sloping down to the stream, planted in 
rows with magnificent banana-plants, full twelve feet high, and 
bearing among their huge waxy leaves clusters of ripening 
fruit; while, under their mellow shade, yams and cassava plants 
were flourishing luxuriantly, the whole being surrounded by a 
hedge of orange and scarlet flowers. There it lay, streaked 
with long shadows from the setting-sun, while a cool southern 
air rustled in the cotton-tree, and flapped to and fro the great 
banana-leaves ; a tiny paradise of art and care. But where 
was its inhabitant ? 

Aroused by the noise of their approach, a figure issued from 
a cave in the rocks, and, after gazing at them for a moment, 
came down the garden towards them. He was a tall and stately 
old man, whose snow-white beard and hair covered his chest 
and shoulders, while his lower limbs were wrapt in Indian-web. 
Slowly and solemrlly he approached, a staff in one hand, a string 
of beads in the other, the living likeness of some old Hebrew 
prophet, or anchorite of ancient legend. He bowed courteously 
to Amyas (who of course returned his salute), and was in act 
to speak, when his eye fell upon the Indians who were laying 
down their burdens in a heap under the trees. His mild coun- 
tenance assumed instantly an expression of tlie acutest sorrow 
and displeasure ; and striking his hands together he spoke in 
Spanish : — 

‘ Alas ! miserable me ! Alas ! unhappy Senors ! Do my old 
eyes deceive me, and is it one of those evil visions of the past 
which haunt my dreams by night : or has the accursed thirst of 
gold, the ruin of my race, penetrated even into this my soli- 
tude ? Oh, Senors, Senors, know you not that you bear with 
you your own poison, your own familiar fiend, the root of every 
evil ? And is it not enough for you, Senors, to load yourselves 
with the wedge of Achan, and partake his doom, but you must 


442 


HOW THEY TOOK 


make these hapless heathens the victims of your greed and 
cruelty, and forestall for them on earth those torments which 
may await their unbaptized souls hereafter? ’ 

‘ We have preserved, and not enslaved these Indians, ancient 
Senor,’ said Amyas proudly ; ‘ and to-morrow will see them as 
free as the birds over our heads.’ 

‘Free? Then you cannot be countrymen of mine! But 
pardon an old man, my son, if he has spoken too hastily in the 
bitterness of his own experience. But who and whence are 
you ? And why are you bringing into this lonely wilderness 
that gold — for I know too well the shape of those accursed 
packets, which would God that I had never seen ! ’ 

‘ What we are, reverend Sir, matters little, as long as we 
behave to you as the young should to the old. As for our gold, 
it will be a curse or a blessing to us, I conceive, just as we use 
it well or ill ; and so is a man’s head or his hand, or any other 
thing ; but that is no reason for cutting off his limbs for fear of 
doing harm with them ; neither is it for throwing away those 
packages, which, by your leave, we shall deposit in one of 
these caves. We must be your neighbors, I fear, for a day or 
two ; but 1 can promise you that your garden shall be respected, 
on condition that you do not inform any human soul of our being 
here.’ 

‘ God forbid, Senor, that I should try to increase the number 
of my visitors, much less to bring hither strife and blood, of 
which 1 have seen too much already. As you have come in 
peace, in peace depart. Leave me alone with God and my 
penitence, and may the Lord have mercy on you 1 ’ 

And he was about to withdraw, when, recollecting himself, 
he turned suddenly to Amyas again, — 

‘ Pardon me, Senor, if, after forty years of utter solitude, I 
shrink at first from the conversation of human beings, and forget, 
in the habitual shyness of a recluse, the duties of a hospitable 
gentleman of Spain. My garden, and all which it produces, is 
at your service. Only let me entreat that these poor Indians 
shall have their share ; for heathens though they be, Christ died 
for them ; and I cannot but cherish in my soul some secret 
hope that he did not die in vain.’ 

‘ God forbid I ’ said Brimblecombe. ‘ They are no worse 
than we, for aught I see, whatsoever their fathers may have 
been ; and they have fared no worse than we since they have 
been with us, nor will, I promise you.’ 

The good fellow did not tell that he had been starving himself 
for the last three days to cram the children with his o.wn rations. 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


443 


and that the sailors, and even Amyas, had been going out of 
their way every five minutes, to get fruit for their new pets. 

A camp was soon formed ; and that evening the old hermit 
asked Amyas, Cary, and Brirnblecombe to come up into his 
cavern. 

They went ; and, after the accustomed compliments had 
pased, sat down on mats upon the ground, while the old man 
stood leaning against a slab of stone surmounted by a rude 
wooden cross which evidently served him as a place of prayer. 
He seemed restless and anxious, as if he waited for them to 
begin the conversation ; while they, in their turn, wailed for 
him. At last, when courtesy would not allow him to be silent 
any longer, he began with a faltering voice : — 

‘ You may be equally surprised, Senors, at my presence in 
such a spot, and at my asking you to become my guests even 
for one evening, while I have no better hospitality to offer 
you.’ 

‘ It is superfluous, Senor, to offer us food in your own habi- 
tation, when you have already put all that you possess at our 
command.’ 

‘ True, Senors ; and my motive for inviting you was, perhaps, 
somewhat of a selflsh one. 1 am possessed by a longing to un- 
burthen my heart of a tale which I never yet told to man ; and 
which I fear can give to you nothing but pain ; and yet I will 
entreat you, of your courtesy, to hear of that which you cannot 
amend, simply in mercy to a man who feels that he must confess 
to some one, or die, as miserably as he has lived. And I believe 
my confidence will not be misplaced when it is bestowed upon 
you. I have been a cavalier, even as you are ; and, strange as 
it may seem, that which I Have to tell 1 would sooner impart to 
the ears of a soldier than of a priest, because it will then sink 
into souls which can at least sympathize, though they cannot 
absolve. And you, cavaliers, I perceive to be noble, from your 
very look ; to be valiant, by your mere presence in this 
hostile land ; and to be gentle, courteous, and prudent, by your 
conduct this day to me and to your captives. Will you, then, 
hear an old man’s tale ? I am, as you see, full of words ; for 
speech', from long disuse, is difficult to me, and I fear at every 
sentence lest my stiffened tongue should play the traitor to my 
worn-out brain ; but if my request seems impertinent, you have 
only to bid me to talk, as a host should, of matters which con- 
cern his guests, and not himself.’ 

The three young men, equally surprised and interested by 
this exordium, could only entreat their host to ‘ use their ears 


414 


HOW THEY TOOK 


as those of his slaves,’ on which, after fresh apologies, he 
began : — 

‘ Know, then, victorious cavaliers, that I, whom you now see 
here as a poor hermit, was formerly one of the foremost of that 
terrible band who went with Pizarro to the conquest of Peru. 
Eighty years old am I this day, unless the calendar which I 
have carved upon yonder tree deceives me ; and twenty years 
old was I when I sailed with that fierce man from Panama, to 
do that deed which all earth, and heaven, and hell itself, I 
fear, has rung. How we endured, suffered, and triumphed ; 
how, mad with success, and glutted with blood, we turned our 
swords against each other, 1 need not tell to you. For what 
gentleman of Europe knows not our glory and our shame .? ’ 

His hearers bowed assent. 

‘ Yes 5 you have heard of our prowess : for glorious we were 
awhile, in the sight of God and man. But I will not speak of 
our glory, for it is tarnished ; nor of our wealth, for it was our 
poison ; nor of the sins of my comrades, for they have expiated 
them ; but of my own sins, Senors, which are more in number 
than the hairs of my head, and a burden too great to bear. 
Miserere Domine / ’ 

And smiting on his breast, the old warrior went on ; — 

‘As I said, we were mad with blood ; and none more mad 
than I. Surely, it is no fable that men are possessed, even in 
this latter age, by devils. Why else did I rejoice in slaying? 
Why else was I, the son of a noble and truthful cavalier of 
Castile, among the foremost to urge upon my general the mur- 
der of the Inca? Why did I rejoice over his dying agonies? 
Why, when Don Ferdinando de Soto returned and upbraided 
us with our villany, did I, instead of confessing the sin which 
that noble cavalier set before us, withstand him to his face, ay, 
and would have drawn the sword on him, but that he refused 
to figjit a liar, as he said that I was ? ’ 

‘Then Don de Soto was against the murder? So his own 
grandson told me. But I had heard of him only as a tyrant 
and a butcher.’ 

‘ Senor, he was compact of good and evil, as are other men : 
he has paid dearly for his sin ; let us hope that he has been 
paid in turn for his righteousness.’ 

John Brimblecombe shook his head at this doctrine, but did 
not speak. 

‘ So you know his grandson ? I trust he is a noble cavalier ? ’ 

Amyas was silent : the old gentleman saw that he had 
touched some sore point, and continued : — 

‘ And why, again, Senors, did I, after that day, give myself 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


445 


up to cruelty as to a sport; yea, thought that I did God service 
by destroying the creatures whom he had made ; I, who now 
dare not destroy a gnat, lest I harm a being more righteous than 
myself ? Was I mad ? If I was, how then was I all that while 
as prudent as I am this day ? But I am not here to argue, 
Senors, but to confess. In a word, there was no deed of blood 
done for the next few years in which I had not my share, if it 
were but within my reach. When Challcuchima was burned, 
I was consenting; when that fair girl, the wife of Inca Manco, 
was tortured to death, I smiled at the agonies at which she too 
smiled, and taunted on the soldiers, to try if I could wring one 
groan from her before she died. You know what followed ; 
the pillage, the violence, the indignities offered to the virgins of 
the Sun. Senors, I will not pollute your chaste ears with what 
was done. But, Senors, I had a brother.’ 

And the old man paused awhile. 

‘ A brother — whether better or worse than me, God knows; 
before whom he has appeared ere now. At least, he did not, 
as I did, end as a rebel to his king. There was a maiden in 
one of those convents, Senors, more beautiful than day ; and (I 
blush to tell it) the two brothers of whom I spoke, quarrelled 
for the possession of her. They struck each other, Senors ! 

Who struck first I know not : but swords were drawn, and 

The cavaliers round parted them, crying shame ! And one of 
these two brothers — the one who speaks to you now — crying, 
“ If I cannot have her, no man shall ! ” — turned the sword which 
was aimed at his brother, against that hapless maiden, and — 
hear me out, Senors, before you flee from my presence as from 
that of a monster — stabbed her to the heart ! And as she 
died — one moment more, Senors, that I may confess all! — 
she looked up in my face with a smile, as of heaven, and 
thanked me for having rid her, once and for all, from Christians 
and their villany.’ 

The old man paused. 

‘ God forgive you, Senor ! ’ said Jack Brimblecome, softly. 

‘ You do not then turn from me Do not curse me ? Then 
I will try you further still, Senors. I will know from human 
lips whether man can do such deeds as I have done, and yet be 
pitied by his kind ; that so 1 may have some hop& that where 
man has mercy, God may have mercy also. Do you think 
that I repented at those awful words.? Nothing less, Senors 
all. No more than I did when De Soto (on whose soul God 
have mercy) called me — me, a liar ! I knew myself a sinner ; 
and for that very reason 1 was determined to sin. I would go 
on, that 1 might prove myself right to myself, by showing that 


446 


HOW THEY TOOK 


I could go on, and not be struck dead from Heaven. Out of 
mere pride, Senors, and self-will, I would fill up the cup of my 
iniquity; and I filled it. 

‘ You know, doubtless, Senors, bow, after the death of old 
Almagro, his son’s party conspired against Pizarro. Now my 
brother remained faithful to his old commander ; and for that 
very reason, if you will believe it, did I join the opposite party, 
and gave myself up, body and soul, to do Almagro’s work. It 
was enough for me, that the brother who had struck me thought 
a man right, for me to think that man a devil. What Almagro’s 
work was, you know. He slew Pizarro. Murdered him, Senors, 
like a dog, or rather, like gin old lion.’ 

‘ He deserved his doom,’ said Amyas. 

‘Let God judge him, Senor, not we; and least of all of us 
I, who drew the first blood, and perhaps the last, that day. I, 
Senors, it was, who treacherously stabbed Francisco de Chanes 
on the staircase, and so opened the door which else had foiled 
as all; and I — but 1 am speaking to men of honor, not to 
butchers. Suffice it that the old man died like a lion, and that 
we pulled him down, young as we were, like curs. 

‘ Well, I followed Almagro’s fortunes. I helped to slay Al- 
varado. Call that my third murder, if you will ; for if he was 
traitor to a traitor, 1 was traitor to a true man. Tlien to the 
war; you know how Vaca de Castro was sent from Spain to 
bring order and justice, where was" nought but chaos and the 
dance of all devils. We met him on the hills of Chupas. Peter 
of Candia, the Venetian villain, pointed our guns false, and 
Almagro stabbed him to the heart. We charged with our 
lances, man against man, horse against horse. All fights I ever 
fought’ (and the old man’s eyes flashed out the ancient fire), 

‘ were child’s-play to that day. Our lances shivered like reeds, 
and we fell on with battle-axe and mace. None asked for 
quarter, and none gave it; friend to friend, cousin to cousin — 
no, nor brother, oh, God ! to brother. We were the better 
armed ; but numbers were on their side. Fat Carbajal charged 
our cannon like an elephant, and took them ; but Holguin was 
shot down. I was with Almagro, and we swept all before us, inch 
by inch, but surely, till the night fell. Then Vaca de Castro, the 
licentiate, the clerk, the schoolman, the man of books, came 
down on us with his reserve, like a whirlwind. Oh I cavaliers, 
did not God fight against us, when he let us, the men of iron, 
us, the heroes of Cusco and Vilcaconga, be foiled by a scholar 
in a black gown, with a pen behind his ear? We were beaten. 
Some ran; some did not run, Senors; and I did not. Gero- 
nirno de Alvarado shouted to me, “ We slew Pizarro ! We 


THE GOLDEN-TRAIN. 


447 


killed the tyrant ! ” and we rushed upon the conqueror’s lances, 
to die like cavaliers. There was a gallant gentleman in front 
of me. His lance struck me in the crest and bore me over my 
horse’s croup ; but mine, Senors, struck him full in the vizor. 
We both went to the ground together, and the battle galloped 
over us. 

‘ I know not how long I lay, for I was stunned ; but, after 
awhile, I lifted myself. My lance was still clenched in my 
hand, broken, but not parted. The point of it was in my foe- 
man’s brain. 1 crawled to him, weary and wounded, and saw 
that he was a noble cavalier. He lay on his back, his arms 
spread wide. I knew that he was dead ; but there came over 
me the strangest longing to see that dead man’s face. Perhaps 
T knew him. At least I could set my foot upon it, and say, 
“ Vanquished as I am, there lies a foe ! ” I caught hold of the 
rivers, and tore his helmet off. The moon shone bright, Senors, 
as bright as she shines now — the glaring, ghastly, tell-tale 
moon, which shows man all the sins which he tries to hide ; 
and by that moonlight, Senors, I beheld the dead man’s face. 
And it was the face of my brother ! 

* Did you ever guess, most noble cavaliers, what Cain’s 
curse might be like.? Look on me, and know ! 

‘ I tore off my armor and fled, as Cain fled — northward ever, 
till I should reach a land where the name of Spaniard,- yea, 
and the name of Christian, which the Spaniard has caused to 
be blasphemed from east to west, should never come. I sank 
fainting, and waked beneath this rock, this tree, forty-four years 
ago, and i have never left them since, save once to obtain seeds 
from Indians, who knew not that I was a Spanish Conquistador. 
And may God have mercy on my soul ! ’ 

The old man ceased ; and^his young hearers, deeply affected 
by his tale, sat silent for a few minutes. Then John Brimble- 
combe spoke : — 

‘You are old. Sir, and I am young; and perhaps it is not 
my place to counsel you. Moreover, Sir, in spite of this 
strange dress of mine, 1 am neither more nor less than an Eng- 
lish priest ; and I suppose you will not be willing to listen to a 
heretic.’ 

‘ 1 have seen Catholics, Senor, commit -too many abomina- 
tions, even wuth the name of God upon their lips, to shrink from 
a heretic, if he speak wisely and well. At least you are a man ; 
and after all, my heart yearns more and more, the longer I sit 
among you, for the speech of beings of my own race. Say 
what you will, in God’s name I ’ 


448 


now THEY TOOK 


‘I hold, Sir,’ said Jack, modestly, ‘according to holy Scrip- 
ture, that whosoever repents from his heart, as God knows you 
seem to have done, is forgiven there and then ; and though his 
sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow, for the sake of 
Him who died for all.’ 

‘Amen! Amen!’ said the old man, looking lovingly at his 
little crucifix. ‘ I hope and pray — His name is love. I know 
it now; who better ? But, Sir, even if He have forgiven me, 
how can I forgive myself? In honor. Sir, I must be just, and 
sternly just, to myself, even if God be indulgent ; as He has 
been to me, who has left me here in peace for forty years, 
instead of giving me a prey to the first puma or jaguar which 
howls round me every night. He has given me time to work 
out my own salvation ; but have I done it? 'I'hat doubt mad- 
dens me at whiles. When I look upon that crucifix, I float on 
boundless hope ; but if I take my eyes from it for a moment, 
faith fails, and all is blank, and dark and dreadful, till the devil 
whispers me to plunge into yon stream, and once and for ever 
wake to certainty, even though it be in hell.’ 

What was Jack to answer ? He himself knew not at first. 
More was wanted than the mere repetition of free pardon. 

‘ Heretic as I am, Sir, you will not believe me when I tell 
you, as a priest, that God accepts your penitence.’ 

‘ My heart tells me so already, at moments. But how know 
I that it does not lie ? ’ 

‘ Senor,’ said Jack, ‘ the best way to punish oneself for 
'doing ill, seems to me to go and do good ; and the best way to 
find out whether God means you well, is to find out whether 
He will help you to do well. If you have wronged Indians in 
time past, see whether you cannot right them now. If you 
can, you are safe. For the Lord will not send the devil’s ser- 
vants to do His work.’ 

The old man held down his head. 

‘ Right the Indians ? Alas ! what is done, is done ! ’ 

‘ Not altogether, Senor,’ said Amyas, ‘ as long as an Indian 
remains alive in New Granada.’ 

‘ Senor, shall I confess my weakness ? A voice within me 
has bid me a hundred times go forth and labor for those op- 
pressed wretches, but I dare not obey. I dare not look them in 
the face. I should fancy that they knew my story ; that the 
very birds upon the trees would reveal my crime, and bid them 
turn from me with horror.’ 

‘ Senor,’ said Amyas, ‘ these are but the sick fancies of a 
noble spirit, feeding, on itself in solitude. You have but to try 
to conquer.’ 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


449 


‘ And look now,’ said Jack, ‘ if you dare not go forth to help 
the Indians, see now how God has brought the Indians to your 
own door. Oh, excellent Sir — ’ 

‘ Call me not excellent,’ said the old man, smiting his breast. 

‘1 do, and shall, Sir, while I see in you an excellent repent- 
ance, an excellent humility, and an excellent justice,’ said 
Jack. ‘ But oh. Sir, look upon these forty souls, whom we 
must leave behind, like sheep which have no shepherd. Could 
you not teach them to fear God and to love each other, to live 
like rational men, perhaps to die like Christians ? They would 
obey you as a dog obeys his master. You might be their king, 
their father, yea, their pope, if you would.’ 

‘ You do not speak like a Lutheran.’ 

‘ I am not a Lutheran, but an Englishman : but, Protestant 
as I am, God knows 1 had sooner see these poor souls of your 
creed, than of none.’ 

‘ But I am no priest.’ 

‘ When they are ready,’ said Jack, ‘ the Lord will send a 
priest. If you begin the good work, you may trust to Him to 
finish it.’ 

‘ God help me ! ’ said the old warrior. 

The talk lasted long into the night, but Amyas was up long 
before daybreak, felling the trees; and as he and Cary walked 
back to breakfast, the first thing which they saw, was the old 
man in his garden with four or five Indian children round him, 
talking smilingly to them. 

‘ The old man’s heart is sound still,’ said Will. ‘ No man is 
lost who still is fond of little children.’ 

‘ Ah, Senors ! ’ said the hermit as they came, ‘yoii see that 
I have begun already to act upon your advice.’ 

‘ And you have begun at the right end,’ quoth Amyas ; ‘ if 
you win the children, you win the mothers.’ 

‘ And if you win the mothers,’ quoth Will, ‘the poor fathers 
must needs obey their wives, and follow in the wake.’ 

The old man only sighed. ‘ The prattle of these little ones 
softens my hard heart, Senors, with a new pleasure ; but it 
saddens me when I recollect that there may be children of mine 
now in the world — children who have never known a father’s 
love, — never known aught but a master’s threats — ’ 

‘ God has taken care of these little ones. Trust that He has 
taken care of yours.’ 

That day Amyas assembled the Indians, and told them that 
they must obey tlie hermit as their king, and settle there as best 
they could ; for if they broke up and wandered away, nothing 
was left for them but to fall one by one into the hands of the 
‘ 38 * 


450 


HOW THEY TOOK 


Spaniards. They heard him with their usual melancholy and 
stupid acquiescence, and went and came as they were bid, like 
animated machines, but the Negroes were of a different temper ; 
and four or five stout fellows gave Amyas to understand, that, 
they had been warriors in their own country, and that warriors 
they would be still : and nothing should keep them from 
Spaniard-hunting. Amyas saw that the presence of these des- 
peradoes in the new colony would both endanger the authority 
of the hermit, and bring the Spaniards down upon it in a few 
weeks; so, making a virtue of necessity, he asked them, 
whether they would go Spaniard-hunting with him ? 

This was just what the bold Coromantees wished for ; they 
grinned and shouted their delight at serving under so great a 
warrior, and then set to work most gallantly, getting through 
more in the day than any ten Indians, and indeed than any two 
Englishmen. 

So went on several days, during which the trees were felled, 
and the process of digging them out began ; while Ayacanora, 
silent and moody, wandered into the woods all day with her 
blow-gun, and brought home at evening a load of parrots, 
monkeys, and curassows ; two or three old hands were sent out 
to hunt likewise ; so that what with the game and the fish of 
the river, which seemed inexhaustible, and the fruit of the 
neighboring palm-trees, there was no lack of food in the camp. 
But what to do with Ayacanora weighed heavily on the mind 
of Amyas. He opened his heart on the matter to the old her- 
mit, and asked him, whether he would take charge of her. 
The latter smiled, and shook his head at the notion. ‘ If your 
report of her be true, I may as well take in hand to tame a 
jaguar. However, he promised to try ; and one evening, as 
they were all standing together before the mouth of the cave, 
Ayacanora came up smiling with the fruit of her day’s sport; 
and Amyas, thinking this a fit opportunity, began a carefully 
prepared harangue to her, which he intended to be altogether 
soothing, and even pathetic, — to the effect that the maiden, 
having no parents, was to look upon this good old man as her 
father; that he would instruct her in the white man’s religion 
(at which promise Yeo, as a good Protestant, winced a good 
deal), and teach her how to be happy and good, and so forth ; 
and that, in fine, she was to remain there with the hermit. 

• She heard him quietly, her great dark eyes opening wider 
and wider, her bosom swelling, her stature seeming to grow 
taller every moment, as she clenched her weapons firmly in 
both her hands. Beautiful as she always was, she had never 
looked so beautiful before ; and as Amyas spoke of parting 


THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


451 


with her, it was like throwing away a lovely toy : but it must 
be done, for her sake, for his, perhaps for that of all the crew. 

The last words had hardly passed his lips, when, with a 
shriek of mingled scorn, rage, and fear, she dashed through the 
astonished group. 

‘ Stop her ! ’ was Amyas’s first words ; but his next was, 
‘ Let her go ! ’ for springing like a deer through the little gar- 
den, and over the flower-fence, she turned menacing with her 
blow-gun the sailors who had already started in pursuit. 

‘ Let her alone, for Heaven’s sake ! ’ shouted Amyas, who, 
he scarce knew why, shrank from the thought of seeing those 
graceful limbs struggling in the seamen’s grasp. 

She turned again, and in another minute her gaudy plurpes 
had vanished among the dark forest stems, as swiftly as if she 
had been a passing bird. 

All stood thunderstruck at this unexpected end to the con- 
ference. At last Amyas spoke — 

‘ There’s no use in standing here idle, gentlemen. Staring 
after her won’t bring her back. After all, I’m glad she is 
gone.’ 

But the tone of his voice belied his words. Now he had lost 
her, he wanted her back , and perhaps every one present, ex- 
cept he, guessed why. 

But Ayacanora^ did not return ; and ten days more went on 
in continual toil at the canoes without any news of her from 
the hunters. Amyas, by the bye, had strictly bidden these last 
not to follow the girl, not even to speak to her, if they came 
across her in her wanderings. He was shrewd enough to 
guess, that the only way to cure her sulkiness was to out-sulk 
her : but there was no sign of her presence in any direction ; 
and the canoes being finished at last, the gold, and such pro- 
visions as they could collect, were placed on board, and one 
evening the party prepared for their fresh voyage. They 
determined to travel as much as possible by night, for fear of 
discovery, especially in the neighborhood of the few Spanish 
settlements, which were then scattered along the banks of the 
main-stream. These, however, the negroes knew ; so that there 
was no fear of coming on them unawares : and as for falling 
asleep in their night journeys, ‘ Nobody,’ the negroes said, 

‘ ever slept on the Magdalena ; the mosquitos took too good 
care of that.’ Which fact Amyas and his crew verified afier^ 
wards as thoroughly as wretched men could do. 

The sun had sunk ; the night had all but fallen ; the men 
were all on board ; — Amyas in command of one canoe, Cary 
of the other. The Indians were grouped on the bank, watch- 


452 


HOW THEY TOOK 


ing the party with their listless stare, and with them the young 
guide, who preferred remaining among Indians, and was made 
supremely happy by the present of a Spanish sword and an 
English axe ; while in the midst the old hermit, with tears in 
his eyes, prayed God’s blessing on them. 

‘ 1 owe to you, noble cavaliers, new peace, new labor, I may 
say, new life. May God be with you, and teach you to use 
your gold and your swords better than I used mine.’ 

The adventurers waved their hands to him. 

‘ Give way, men,’ cried Amyas ; and as he spoke the pad- 
dles dashed into the water, to a right English hurrah ! which 
sent the birds fluttering from their roosts, and was answered 
by the yell of a hundred monkeys, and the distant roar of the 
jaguar. 

About twenty yards below, a wooded rock, some ten feet 
high, hung over the stream. The river was there not more 
’than fifteen yards broad ; deep near the rock, shallow on the 
further side ; and Amyas’s canoe led the way within ten feet 
of the stone. 

As he passed, a dark figure leapt from the bushes on the 
edge, and plunged heavily into the water close to the boat. All 
started. A jaguar ? No ; he would not have missed so short a 
spring. What, then ? A human being ? 

A head rose panting to the surface, and with a few strong 
strokes, the swimmer had clutched the gunwale. It was Aya- 
canora ! 

‘ Go back ! ’ shouted Amyas. ‘ Go back, girl ! ’ 

She uttered the same wild cry with which she had fled into 
the forest. 

‘ I will die, then ! ’ and she threw up her arms. Another 
rfioment, and she had sunk. To see her perish before his eyes! 
who could bear that ? Her hands alone were above the surface. 
Amyas caught convulsively at her in the darkness, and seized 
her wrist. 

A yell rose from the negroes; a roar'from the crew as from 
a cage of lions. There was a rush and a swirl along the sur- 
face of the stream ; and ‘ Caiman ! caiman 1 ’ shouted twenty 
voices. 

Now, or never, for the strong arm ! ‘ To larboard, men, or 

over we go ! ’ cried Amyas, ^and with one huge heave, he lifted 
the slender body upon the gunwale. Her lower limbs were 
still in the water, w'hen, within arm’s length, rose above the 
stream a huge muzzle. The lower jaw lay flat, the upper 
reached as high as Amyas’s head. He could see the long 
fangs gleam white in the moonshine; he could see, for one 


THE GOLr-TRAIN. 


453 


moment, full down the monstrous depths of that great gape, 
which would have crushed a buffalo. Three inches, and no 
more, from that soft side, the snout surged up 

There was the gleam of an axe from above, a sharp ringing 
blow, and the jaws came together with a clash which rang from 
bank to bank. He had missed her! Swerving beneath the 
blow, his snout had passed beneath her body, and smashed up 
against the side of the canoe, as the striker, overbalanced, fell 
headlong overboard upon the monster’s back. 

‘ Who is it ? ’ 

‘ Yeo I ’ shouted a dozen. 

Man and beast went down together, and where they sank the 
moonlight shone on a great swirling eddy, while all held their 
breaths, and Ayacanora cowered down into the bottom of the 
canoe, her proud spirit utterly broken, for the first time, by the 
terror of that great need, and by a bitter loss. For in the struggle, 
the holy trumpet, companion of all her wanderings, had fallen 
from her bosom ; and her fond hope of bringing magic pros- 
perity to her English friends, had sunk with it to the bottom of 
the stream. 

None heeded her ; not even Amyas, round whose knees she 
clung, fawning like a spaniel dog ; for where was Yeo ? 

Another swirl ; a shout from the canoe abreast of them, and 
Yeo rose, having dived clean under his own boat, and risen 
between the two. 

‘ Safe as yet, lads ! Heave me a line, or he’ll have me, after 
alb’ 

But ere the brute reappeared, the old man was safe on board. 

‘ The Lord has stood by me,’ panted he, as he shot the water . 
from his ears. ‘ We went down together : I knew the Indian 
trick, and being uppermost, had my thumbs in his eyes before 
he could turn ; but he carried me down to the very mud. My 
breath was nigh gone, so 1 left go, and struck up ; but my toes 
tingled as I rose again, .Til warrant. There the beggar is, look- 
ing for me, I declare ! ’ 

And, true enough, there was the huge brute swimming slowly 
round and round’ in search of his lost victim. It was too dark 
to put an arrow into his eye ; so they paddled on, while Aya- 
canora crouched silently at Amyas’s feet. 

‘ Yeo,’ asked he, in a low voice, ‘ what shall we do with 
her? ’ 

‘Why ask me. Sir?’ said the old man, as he had a very 
good right to ask. 

‘ Because, when one don’t know oneself, one had best inquire 
of one’s' elders. Besides, you saved her life at the risk of 


454 


HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN. 


your own, and have a right to a voice in the matter, if any one 
has, old friend.’ 

‘ Then, my dear yoimg Captain, if the Lord puts a precious 
soul under your care, don’t you refuse to bear the burden he 
lays on you.’ 

Amyas was silent awhile ; while Ayacanora, who was evi- 
dently utterly exhausted by the night’s adventure, and probably 
by long wanderings, watchings, and .weepings, which ,had gone 
before it, sank with her head against his knee, fell fast asleep, 
and breathed as gently as a child. 

At last he rose in the canoe, and called Cary alongside. 

‘ Listen to me, gentlemen, and sailors all. You know that 
we have a maiden on board here, by no choice of our own. 
Whether she will be a blessing to us, God alone can tell ; but 
she may turn to the greatest curse which has befallen us ever 
since we came .out over Bar three years ago. Promise me one 
thing, or 1 put her ashore the next beach ; and that is, that you 
will treat her as if she were your own sister ; and make an " 
agreement here and now, that' if the maid comes to harm 
among us, the man that is guilty shall hang for it by the neck 
till he’s dead, even though he be I, Captain Leigh, who speak to 
you. PH hang you, as I am a Christian ; and 1 give you free 
leave to hang me.’ 

‘ A very fair bargain,’ quoth Cary ; ‘ and I for one will see it 
kept to. Lads, we’ll twine a double strong halter for the Cap- 
tain as we go down along.’ 

‘I am not jesting. Will.’ 

‘I know it, good old lad,’ said Cary, stretching out his own 
■ hand to him across the water through the darkness, and giving 
him a hearty shake. ‘I know it; and listen, men! So help 
me God 1 but I’ll be the first to back the Captain in being as 
good as his word, as 1 trust he never will need to be.’ 

^ ‘Amen!’ said Brimblecombe. ‘Amen!’ said Yeo ; and 
many an honest voice joined in that honest compact, and kept 
it too, like men. 


HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON. 


455 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON. 

* When captains courageous, whom death could not daunt, 

Did march to the siege of the city of Gaunt, 

They muster’d their soldiers by two and by three, 

But the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree. 

When brave Sir John Major was slain in her sight. 

Who was her true lover, her joy and delight, 

Because he was murther’d most treacherouslie, • 

Then vowed to avenge him fair Mary Ambree.’ 

Old Ballad. A. D. 15R4. 

One more glance at the golden tropic sea, and the golden 
tropic evenings, by the shore of New Granada, in the golden 
Spanish Main. 

The bay of Santa Martha is rippling before the land-breeze, 
one sheet of living flame. The mighty forests are sparkling 
with myriad fire-flies. The lazy mist which lounges round the 
inner hills shines golden in the sunset rays; and, nineteen 
thousand feet aloft, the mighty peak of Horqueta cleaves the 
abyss of air, rose-red against the dark-blue vault of heaven. 
The rosy cone fades to a dull leaden hue ; but only for awhile. 
The stars flash out one by one, and Venus, like another moon, 
tinges the eastern snows with gold, and sheds across the bay a 
long yellow line of rippling light. Everywhere is glory and 
richness. What wonder if the earth in that enchanted land be 
as rich to her inmost depths as she is upon the surface ? The 
heaven, the hills, the sea, are one sparkling garland of jewels — 
what wonder if the soil be jewelled also ? if every water-course 
and bank of earth be spangled with oneralds and rubies, with 
grains of gold, and feathered wreaths of native silver? 

^So thought, in a poetic mood, the Bishop of Carthagena, as 
he sat in the state cabin of that great galleon. The City of the 
True Cross, and looked pensively out of the window toward 
the shore. The good man was in a state of holy calm. His 
stout figure rested on one easy chair, his stout ankles on 
another, beside a table spread with oranges and limes, guavas 
and pine-apples, and all the fruits of hid. 


456 


HOW THEY TOOK 


An Indian girl, bedizened with scarfs and gold chains, kept 
off the flies with a fan of feathers ; and by him, in a pail of 
ice from the Horqueta (the gift of some pious Spanish lady, 
who had ‘ spent ’ an Indian or two in bringing down the precious 
offering), stood more than one flask of virtuous wine of Alicant. 
But he was not so selfish, good man, as to enjoy either ice or 
wine alone; Don Pedro, Colonel of the soldiers on board, Don 
Alvarez, Intendant of His Catholic Majesty’s Customs at Santa 
Martha, and Don Paul, Captain of Mariners in the City of the 
True Cross, had. by his especial request, come to his assistance 
that evening, and with two friars, who sat at the lower end of 
the table, were doing their best to prevent the good man from 
taking too bitterly to heart the present unsatisfactory state of 
bis cathedral town, which had just been sacked and burnt by an 
old friend of ours. Sir Francis Drake. 

‘ We have been great sufferers, Senors, — ah, great sufferers,’ 
snuffled the bishop, quoting Scripture, after the fashion of the 
day, glibly enough, but often much too irreverently for me to 
repeat, so boldly were his texts travestied, and so freely inter- 
larded by grumblings at Tita and the mosquitos. ‘ Great 
sufferers, truly ; but there shall be a remnant, — Ah! a rem- 
nant, like the shaking of the olive tree, and the gleaning grapes 
when the vintage is done. — Ah! Gold? Yes, I trust Our 
Lady’s mercies are not shut up, nor her arm shortened. 
Look, Senors 1 ’ — And he pointed majestically out of the 
window. ‘ It looks gold ! it smells of gold, as I may say, by a 
poetical license. Yea, the very waves, as they ripple past us, 
sing of gold, gold, gold ! ’ 

‘ It is a great privilege,’ said the intendant, ‘to have comfort 
so gracefully administered at once by a churchman and a 
scholar.’ 

‘ A poet too,’ said Don Pedro. ‘ You have no notion what* 
sweet sonnets’ — ’ 

‘Hush, Don Pedro — hush! If I, a mateless bird, have 
spent an idle hour in teaching lovers how to sing, why, what of 
that r I am a churchman, Senors ; but I am a man, and I can 
feel, Senors; I can sympathize ; I can palliate ; I can excuse. 
Who knows better than I, how much nature lurks in us fallen 
sons of Adam ? Tita ! ’ 

‘ Um ? ’ said the trembling girl, with a true Indian grunt. 

‘ Fill his Excellency the intendant’s glass. Does much more 
treasure come down, illustrious Seiior ? May the poor of Mary 
hope for a few more crumbs from their Mistress’s table ? ’ 

‘ Not a pezo, I fear. The big white cow up tliere ’ — and 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


457 


he pointed to the Horqueta — ‘ has been milked dry for this 
year.’ 

‘Ah!’ And he looked up at the magnificent snow peak. 
‘Only good to cool wine with, eh.? and as safe for the time 
being as Solomon’s birds ? ’ 

‘ Solomon’s birds ? Explain your recondite allusion, my 
lord.’ 

‘ Enlighten us, your Excellency ; enlighten us.’ 

‘ Ah ! thereby hangs a tale. You know the holy birds who 
run up and down on the Prado, at Seville, among the ladies’ 
pretty feet, — eh .? with hooked noses, and cinnamon crests ? 
Of course. Hoopoes — Upupa, as the classics have it. Well, 
Senors, once on a time, the story goes, these hoopoes all had 
golden crowns on their heads ; and, Senors, they took the 
consequences — eh .? But it befell on a day, that all the birds 
and beasts came to do homage at the court of His Most 
Catholic Majesty King Solomon ; and among them came these 
same hoopoes ; and they had a little request to make, the poor 
rogues. And what do you think it was ?■ Why, that King 
Solomon would pray for them, that they might wear any sort 
of crowns but these same golden ones ; for, listen, Tita ! and 
see the snare of riches — mankind so hunted, and shot, and 
trapped, and snared them, for the sake of these same golden 
crowns, that life was a burthen'to bear. So Solomon prayed; 
and instead of golden crowns, they all received crowns of 
feathers ; and ever since, Senors, they live as merrilyas crick- 
ets in an oven, and also have the honor of bearing the name of 
His Most Catholic Majesty King Solomon. Tita! fill the Senor 
Commandant’s glass. Fray Gerundio, what are you whispering 
about down there. Sir.?’ 

Fray Gerundio had merely commented to his brother on the 
bishop’s story of Solomon’s birds; with an — 

‘O si sic omnia ! — would that all gold would turn to feathers, 
in like wise ! ’ 

‘ Then, friend,’ replied the other, a Dominican, like Gerundio, 
but of a darker and sterner complexion, ‘corrupt human nature 
would within a week discover some fresh bauble, for which to 
kill and be killed in vain.’ 

‘ What is that. Fray Gerundio .? asked the bishop again. 

‘ 1 merely remarked, that it were well for the world if all 
mankind were to put up the same prayer as the hoopoes.’ 

‘ World, Sir.? What do you know about the world .? Con- 
vert your Indians, Sir, if you please, and leave affairs of state 
to your superiors. You will excuse him, Senors’ (turning to 
the Dons, and speaking in a lower tone), ‘ a very worthy and 
39 


458 


HOW THEY TOOK 


pious mati, but a poor peasant’s son ; and beside — you under- 
stand. A little wrong here ; too much fasting and watching, I 
fear, good man.’ And the bishop touched his forehead knowing- 
ly, to signify that Fray Gerund io’s wits were in an unsatisfactory 
state. 

The Fray heard and saw with a quiet smile. He was one of 
those excellent men whom the cruelties of his countrymen had 
stirred up (as the darkness, by mere contrast, makes the light 
more bright), as they did Las Casas, Gasca,and many another 
noble name which is written in the book of life, to deeds of love 
and pious daring worthy of any creed or age. True Protest- 
ants, they protested, even before kings, against the evil which 
lay nearest them, the sin which really beset them ; true liberals, 
they did not disdain to ^all the dark-skinned heathen their 
brothers ; and asserted in terms which astonish us, when we 
recollect the age in which they were spoken, the inherent 
freedom of every being who wore the flesh and blood which 
their Lord wore ; true martyrs, they bore witness of Christ, 
and received too often the reward of such, in slander and con- 
tempt. Such an one was Fray Gerundio ; a poor, mean, 
clumsy-tongued peasant’s son, who never could put three sen- 
tences together, save when he waxed eloquent, crucifix in hand, 
amid some group of Indians or negroes. He was accustomed 
to such rebuffs as the bishop’s ; he took them for what they 
were worth, and sipped his wine in silence; while the talk 
went on. 

‘ They say,’ observed the commandant, ‘ that a very small 
Plate-fleet will go to Spain this year.’ 

‘ What else says the intendant. ‘ What have we to send, 
in the name of all the saints, since these accursed English 
Lutherans have swept us out clean ’ 

‘ And if we had anything to send,’ says the sea-captain, 
“ what have we to send it in ? That fiend incarnate, Drake — ’ 

‘ Ah !’ said his holiness ; ‘ spare my ears i Don Pedro, you 
will oblige my weakness by not mentioning that man ; — his 
name is Tartarean, unfit for polite lips. Draco — a dragon — 
serpent — the emblem of Diabolus himself— ah! And the 
guardian of the golden apples of the west, who would fain devour 
our new Hercules, flis Most Catholic Majesty. Deceived Eve, 
too, with one of those same apples — a very evil name, Senors 
— a Tartarean name, — Tita ? ’ 

‘ Urn ’ 

‘ Fill my glass.’ 

‘Nay,’ cried the colonel, with a groat oath, ‘this English 
fellow is of another breed of serpent from that, I warrant.’^ 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


459 


Yoiir reason, Senor ; your reason ? 

‘ Because this one would have seen Eve at the bottom of the 
sea, before he let her, or any one but himself, taste aught which 
looked like gold.’ 

‘Ah, ah! — very good! But — we laugh, valiant Senors, 
while the Church weeps. Alas for my sheep ! ’ 

‘ And, alas for their sheep-fold ! It will be four years before 
we can get Carthagena rebuilt again. And as for the block- 
house, when we shall get that rebuilt. Heaven only knows, while 
His Majesty goes on draining the Indies for his English Armada. 
The town is as naked now as an Indian’s back.’ 

‘ Baptista Antonio, the surveyor, has sent home by me a 
relation to the king, setting forth our defenceless state. But to 
read a relation and to act on it, are two cocks of very different 
hackles, bishop, as all statesmen know. Heaven grant we may 
have orders by the next fleet to fortify, or we shall be at the 
mercy of every English pirate ! ’ 

‘ Ah, that blockhouse ! ’ sighed the bishop. ‘ That was indeed 
a villanous trick. A hundred and ten thousand ducats for the 
ransom of the town ! After having burned and plundered the 
one half, and having made me dine with them too, ah! and sit 
between the — the serpent, and his lieutenant-general — and 
drank my health in my own private wine — wine that I had 
from Xeres nine years ago, Senors — and offered, the shame- 
less heretics, to take me to England, if I would turn Lutheran, 
and find me a wife, and make an honest man of me — ah! 
and then to demand fresh ransom for the priory and the fort — 
perfidious ! ’ 

‘ Well,’ said the colonel, ‘they had the law of us, the cun- 
ning rascals, for we forgot to mention any thing but the town in 
the agreement. Who would have dreamed of such a fetch as 
that ? ’ 

‘ So I told my good friend the prior, when he came to me to 
borrow the thousand crowns. It was Heaven’s will. Unex- 
pected like the thunderbolt, and to be borne as such. Every 
man must bear his own burden. How could I lend him 
aught ? ’ 

‘ Your holiness’s money had been all carried off by them 
before,’ said the intendant, who knew, and none better, the 
• exact contrary. 

‘Just so — all my scanty savings! desolate in my lone old 
age. Ah, Senors, had we not had warning of the coming of 
these wretches from my dear friend the Marquess of Santa 
Cruz, whom I remember daily in my prayers, we had been like 
to them who go down quick into the pit. I too might have 


460 


HOW THEY TOOK 


saved a trifle, had I been minded ; but in thinking too much of 
others, I forgot myself, alas ! ’ 

‘ Warning or none, we had no right to be beaten by such a 
handful,’ said the sea-captain ; ‘ and a shame it is, and a shame 
it will be, for many a day to come.’ 

‘ Do you mean to cast any slur. Sir, upon the courage and 
conduct of His Catholic Majesty’s soldiers ? ’ asked the colonel. 

‘ I ? — No ; but we were foully beaten, and that behind our 
barricades too, and there’s the plain truth.’ 

‘Beaten, Sir .? Do you apply such a term to the fortunes of 
war ? What more could our governor have done .? Had we 
not the ways filled with poisoned caltropes, guarded by Indian 
archers, barred with butts full of earth, raked with culverins 
and arquebuses.? What familiar spirit had we. Sir, to tell us 
that these villains would come along the sea-beach, and not by 
the high-road, like Christian men .? ’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ said the bishop, ‘ it was-by intuition diabolic, I doubt 
not, that they took that way. Satanus must need help those 
who serve him ; and for my part, I can only attribute (I would 
the captain here had piety enough to do so) the misfortune 
which occurred to art-magic.. I believe these men to have been 
possessed by all fiends whatsoever.’ 

‘ Well, your holiness,’ said the colonel, ‘ there may have 
been devilry in it ; how else would men have dared to run 
right into the mouths of our cannon, fire their shot against our 
very noses, and tumble harmless over those huge butts of 
earth .? ’ 

‘ Doubtless, by force of the fiends which raged within them,’ 
interposed the bishop. 

‘ And then, with their blasphemous cries, leap upon us with 
sword and pike .? I myself saw that Lieutenant-General Car- 
lisle hew down with one stroke that noble young gentleman 
the ensign-bearer, your Excellency’s sister’s son’s nephew, 
though he was armed cap-a-pie. Was not art-magic here .? 
And that most curious and blaspheming Lutheran, Captain 
Young, I saw how he caught our General by the head, after the 
illustrious Don Alonzo had given him a grievous wound, threw 
him to the earth, and so took him. Was not art-magic here .? ’ 

‘ Well, I say,’_said the captain, ‘ if you are looking for art- 
magic, what say you to their marching through the flank fire 
of our galleys, with eleven pieces of ordnance, and two hun- 
dred shot playing on them, as if it had been a mosquito swarm ? 
Some say my men fired too high : but that was the English 
rascals’ doing, for they got down on the tide beach. But, 
Senor Commandant, though Satan may have taught them that 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


461 


trick, was it he that taught them to carry pikes a foot longer 
than yours ? ’ 

‘ Ah, well,’ said the bishop, ‘ sacked are we ; and Saint 
Domingo, as I hear, in worse case than we are ; and Saint 
Augustine, in Florida, likewise ; and all that is left for a poor 
priest like me, is to return to Spain, and see whether the pious 
clemency of his Majesty, and of the universal Father, may not 
be willing to grant some small relief or bounty to the poor of 
Mary — perhaps (for who knows ?) — to translate to a sphere 
of more peaceful labor one who is now old, Senors, and w6ary^ 
with many toils — Tita ! Fill our glasses. I have saved some- 
what — as you may have done, Senors, from the general- 
wreck ; and for the flock, when I am no more, illustrious 
Senors, Heaven's mercies are infinite ; new cities will rise 
from the ashes of the old, new mines pour forth their treasures 
into the sanctified laps of the faithful, and new Indians flock 
toward the life-giving standard of the Cross, to put on the easy 
yoke and light burden of the Church, and ’ 

‘ And where shall 1 be, then ? Ah, where ? Fain would I 
rest, and- fain depart. Tita ! Sling my hammock. Senors, 
you will excuse age and infirmities. Fray Gerundio, go to 
bed ! ’ 

And the Dons rose to depart, while the bishop went on 
maundering, — 

‘ Farewell ! Life is short. Ah, we shall meet in heaven at 
last. And there are really no more pearls ? ’ 

‘ Not a frail ; nor gold either,’ said the intendant. 

‘ Ah, well ! Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than — 
Tita!’ 

‘My breviary — ah! Man’s gratitude is short-lived, I had 
hoped — you have seen nothing of. the Senora Bovadilla ? ’ 

‘ Ah ! she promised : — but no matter — a little trifle as a 
keepsake — a gold cross, or an emerald ring, or what not — I 
forget. And what have 1 to do with worldly wealth ? — ah! 
Tita ! bring me the casket.’ 

And when his guests were gone, the old man began mum- 
bling prayers out of his breviary, and fingering over jewels and 
gold, with the dull greedy eyes of covetous old age. 

‘ Ah ! — It may buy the red hat yet ! — Omnia RomoR ve- 
nalia ! Put it by, Tita, and do not look at it too much, child. 
Enter not into temptation. The love of money is the root of 
all evil ; and Heaven, in love for the Indian, has made him 
poor in this world, that he may be rich in faith. Ah ! — Ugh ! 
— So!’ 


39 * 


462 


now THEY TOOK 


And the old miser clambered into his hammock. Tita drew 
the mosquito net over him, wrapt another round her own head, 
and slept, or seemed to sleep ; for she coiled herself up upon 
the floor, and master and slave soon snored a merry bass to the 
treble of the mosquitos. 

It was long past midnight, and the moon was down. The 
sentinels, who had tramped and challenged overhead till they 
thought their officers were sound asleep, had slipped out of the 
unwholesome rays of the planet to seek that health and peace 
which they considered their right, and slept as soundly as the 
bishop’s self. 

Two long lines glided out from behind the isolated rocks of 
the Morro Grande, which bounded the bay some five hundred 
yards astern of the galleon. They were almost invisible on 
the glittering surface of the water, being perfectly white ; and, 
had a sentinel been looking out, he could only have descried 
them by the phosphorescent flashes along their sides. 

Now the bishop had awoke, and turned himself over un- 
easily ; for the wine was dying out within him, and his shoul- 
ders had slipped down, and his heels up, and his h ad ached : 
so he sat upright in his hammock, looked out upon the bay, and 
called Tita. 

‘ Put another pillow under my head, child ! What is that ? 
a fish ? ’ • 

Tita looked. She did not think it was a fish : but she did 
not choose to say so ; for it might have produced an argument, 
and she had her reasons for not keeping his holiness awake. 

The bishop looked again ; settled that it must be a white 
whale, or shark, or other monster of the deep ; crossed himself, 
prayed for a safe voyage, and snored once more. 

Presently the cabin door .opened gently, and the head of the 
Senor intendant appeared. 

Tita sat up ; and then began crawling like a snake along 
the floor, among the chairs and tables, by the light of the cabin 
lamp. 

‘ Is he asleep ? ’ 

‘ Yes : but the casket is under his head.’ 

‘ Curse him ! How shall we take it ? ’ 

‘ I brought him a fresh pillow half-an-hour ago ; I hung his 
hammock wrong on purpose that he might want one. I thought 
to slip the box away as 1 did it : but the old ox nursed it in both 
hands all the while.’ 

‘ What shall we do, in the name of all the fiends > She 
sails to-morrow morning, and then all is lost.’ 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


463 


Tita shewed her white teeth, and touched the dagger which 
hung by the intendant’s side. 

‘ 1 dare not ! ’ said the rascal, with a shudder. 

‘ 1 dare ! ’ said she. ‘ He whipt my mother, because she 
would not give me up to him to be taught in his schools, when 
she went to the mines. And she went to the mines, and died 
there in three months. I saw her go, with a chain round her 
neck : but she never came back again. Yes ; I dare kill him ! 

I will kill him ! I will !’ 

The Senor felt his mind much relieved. He had no wish, 
of course, to commit the murder himself ; for he was a good 
Catholic, and feared the devil. But Tita was ah Indian, and 
her being lost did not matter so much. Indians’ souls were 
cheap, like their bodies. So he answered, ‘ But we shall be 
discovered ! ’ 

‘ I will leap out of the window'with the casket, and swim 
ashore. They will never suspect you, and they will fancy I 
am drowned.’ 

‘ The sharks may seize you, Tita. You had better give me 
the casket.’ 

Tita smiled. You would not like to lose that, eh ? though 
you care little about losing me. And yet you told me that you 
loved me ? ’ 

‘And I do love you, Tita! light of my eyes! life of my 
heart! I swear by all the saints, I love you. I will marry you, 
I swear I will — I will swear on the crucifix, if you like ! ’ 

‘ Swear, then, or I do not give you the casket,’ said she hold- 
ing out the little crucifix round her neck, and devouring him 
with the wild eyes of passionate, unreasoning, tropic love. • 

He swore, trembling, and deadly pale. 

‘ Give me your dagger.’ 

‘ No, not mine. It may be found. I shall be suspected. 
What if my sheath were seen to be empty F ’ 

‘ Your knife will do. His throat is soft enough.’ 

A*nd she glided stealthily as a cat toward the hammock, 
while her cowardly companion stood shivering at the other end 
of the cabin, and turned his back to her, that he might not see 
the deed. 

He stood waiting, one minute — two — five ? was it not an 
hour, rather.^ A cold sweat bathed his limbs; the blood beat 
so fiercely within his temples, that his head rung again. Was 
that a death-bell tolling ? No; it was the pulses of his brain. 
Impossible, surely a death-bell. Whence could it come ? 

There was a struggle — ah ! she was about it now ; a stifled 
cry — ah! he had dreaded that most of all, to hear the old 


464 


HOW THEY TOOK 


man cry. Would there be much blood } He hoped not. 
Another struggle, and Tita’s voice, apparently muffled, called 
for help. 

‘ I cannot help you. Mother of Mercies ! I dare not help 
you ! ’ hissed he. ‘ She-devil ! you have begun it, and you 
must finish it yourself!’ 

A heavy arm from behind claspe’d his throat. The bishop 
had broken lose from her, and seized him ! Or was it his 
ghost ? or a fiend come to drag him down to the pit ? And 
forgetting all but mere wild terror, he -opened his lips for a 
scream, which would have wakened every soul on board. But 
a handkerchief was thrust in his mouth ; and in another 
minute he found himself bound hand and foot, and laid upon the 
table bya gigantic enemy. The cabin was full of armed men, 
two of whom were dashing up the bishop in his hammock ; two 
more had seized Tita ; and more were clambering up into the 
stern gallery beyond, wild figures, with bright blades and armor 
gleaming in the starlight. 

‘ Now, Will,’ whispered the giant who had seized him, ‘ for- 
ward, and clap the fore-hatches on, and shout Fire ! with all 
your might. Girl ! murderess ! your life is in my hands. Tell 
me where the commander sleeps, and I pardon you.’ 

Tita looked up at the huge speaker, and obeyed in silence. 
The intendant heard him enter the colonel’s cabin, and then a 
short scuffle, and silence for a moment. 

But only for a moment; for already the alarm had been 
given, and mad confusion reigned through every deck. Amyas 
(for it was none other) had already gained the poop ; the sen- 
tir^els were gagged and bound; and every ‘half-naked wretch 
who came trembling up on deck in his shirt by the main hatch- 
way, calling one, ‘Fire!’ another, ‘Wreck!’ and another, 
‘ Treason ! ’ was hurled down again upon his comrades’ heads. 

‘ Lower away that boat ! ’ shouted Amyas in Spanish to two 
or three who had contrived to gain the deck. 

The men, unarmed and naked, could but obey. 

‘ Now, then, jump in. . Here, hand them to the gang-way as 
they come up.’ 

It was done ; and as each appeared, he was kicked to the 
scuppers, and bundled dovyn over the side. 

‘ She’s full. Cast loose now, and off with you. If you try 
to board again, we’ll sink you.’ 

‘ Fire ! fire ! ’ shouted Cary ; forward — ‘ Up the main hatch- 
way for your lives ! ’ 

The ruse succeeded utterly ; and before half-an-hour was 
over, all the ship’s boats which could be lowered were filled 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


465 


^v^th Spaniards in their shirts, getting ashore as best they 
could. 

‘ Here is a new sort of camisado,’ quoth Cary. ‘ The last 
Spanish one I saw was at the sortie from Smerwick : but this 
is somewhat more prosperous than that.’ 

‘ Get the main and foresail up, Will ! ’ said Amyas, ‘ cut the 
cable ; and we will plume the quarry as we fly.’ 

‘ Spoken like a good falconer. Heaven grant that this big 
woodcock may carry a good trail inside.’ 

‘I’ll warrant her for that,’ said Jack Brimblecombe. ‘She 
floats so low.’ 

‘ Much of your build, too. Jack. By-the-bye, where is the 
commander ? ’ 

Alas ! Don Pedro, forgotten in the bustle, had been lying on 
the deck in his shirt, helplessly bound, exhausting that part of 
liis vocabulary which related to the unseen world. Which most 
discourteous act seemed at first likely to be somewhat heavily 
avenged on Amyas ; for as he spoke, a couple of caliver-shots, 
fired from under the poop, passed ‘ ping, ping,’ by his ears, and 
Cary clapped his hand to his side. 

‘ Hurt, Will ? ’ 

‘ A pinch, old lad. . Look out, or we are “ alien verloren ” 
after all, as the Flemings say.’ 

And, as he spoke, a rush forward on the poop drove two of 
their best men down the ladder into the waist, where Amyas 
stood., 

‘ Killed ? ’ asked he, as he picked one up, who had fallen 
head over heels. 

‘ Sound as a bell, Sir : but they Gentiles has got hold of the 
fire-arms, and set the captain free.’ 

And rubbing the back of his head for a minute, he jumped 
up the ladder a^in, shouting, — 

‘ Have at idolatrous pagans ! Have at ye, Satan’s 
spawn ! ’ 

Amyas jumped up after him, shouting to all hands to follow 
for there was no time to be lost. 

Out of the windows of the poop, which looked. on the main- 
deck, a galling fire had been opened, and he could not aflbrd 
to lose men ; for, as far as he'knew,the Spaniards left on board 
might still far outnumber the English ; so up he sprang on the 
poop, followed by a dozen men, and there began a very heavy 
fight between two parties of valiant warriors, who easily knew 
each other apart by the peculiar fashion of their armor. For 
the Spaniards fought in their shirts, and in no' other garment ; 


4G6 


HOW THEY TOOK 


but the English in all other nnanner of garments, tag, rag, and 
bobtail ; aftd yet had never a shirt between them. 

The rest of the English made a rush, of course, to get upon 
the poop, seeing that the Spaniards could not shoot them through 
the deck; but the fire from the windows was so hot, that al- 
though they dogged behind masts, spars, and every possible 
shelter, one or two dropped ; and Jack Brimblecombe and Yeo 
took on themselves to call a retreat, and, with about a dozen 
men, got back, and held a council of war. 

What was to be done ? Their arquebuses were of little use ; 
for the Spaniards were behind a strong bulk-head. There were 
cannon : but where was powder or shot.? The boats, encour- 
aged by the clamor on deck, were paddling alongside again. 
Yeo rushed round and round, probing every gun with his 
sword. 

‘ Here’s a patararo loaded ! Now for a match, lads.’ 

Luckily one of the English had kept his match alight during 
the scuffle. 

‘ Thanks be ! Help me to unship the gun — the mast’s in 
the w'ay here.’ 

The patararo, or brass swivel, was unshipped. 

‘ Steady, lads, and keep it level, or you’ll shake out th*e 
priming. Ship it here ; turn out that one, and heave it into 
that boat, if they come alongside. Steady now — so! Rum- 
mage about, and find me a bolt or two, a marling-spike, any- 
thing. Quick, or the captain will be overmastered yet.’^ 

Missiles were found — odds and ends — and crammed into' 
the swivel up to the muzzle ; and, in another minute, its ‘ cargo 
of notions ’ was crashing into the poop-windows, silencing the 
fire from thence effectually enough for the time. 

‘ Now, then, a rush forward, and right in along the deck 1 ’ 
shouted Yeo 4 and the whole party charged through the cabin- 
door, which their shot had burst open, and hewed their way 
from room to room. 

In the meanwhile, the Spaniards above had fought fiercely: 
but, in spite of superior numbers, they had gradually given 
back before the ‘ demoniacal possession of those blasphemous 
heretics, who fought, not like men, but like furies from the pit.’ 
And by the time that Brimblecombe and Yeo shouted from the 
stern-gallery below that the quarter-deck was won, few on either 
side but had their shrewd scratch to show. 

‘ Yield, Sehor !’ shouted Amyas to the commander, who had 
been fighting like a lion, back to back with the captain of 
mariners. 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


467 


r 

‘ Never ! Yon have bound me, and insulted me ! Your blood 
or mine must wipe out the stain ! ’ 

And he rushed on Amyas. There was a few moments’ 
heavy fence between them ; and then Amyas cut right at his 
head. But as he raised his arm, the Spaniard’s blade slipped 
along lus ribs, and snapped against the point of his shoulder- 
blade. An inch more to the left, and it would have been through 
his heart. The blow fell, nevertheless, and the commandant 
fell with it, stunned by the flat of the sword, but not wounded ; 
for Amyas’s hand had turned, as he winced from his wound. 
But the sea-captain, seeing Amyas stagger, sprang at him, and, 
seizing him by the wrist, ere he could raise his sword again, 
shortened his weapon to run him through. Amyas made a 
grasp at his wrist ‘in return, but, between his faintness and the 
darkness, missed it. Another moment, and all would have 
been over ! 

A bright blade flashed close past Amyas’s ear : the sea- 
captain’s grasp loosened, and he dropped a corpse ; while over 
him, like an angry lioness above her prey, stood Ayacanora, 
her long hair floating in the wind, her dagger raised aloft, as she 
looked round, challenging all and every one to approach. 

‘ Are you hurt ? ’ panted she. 

‘A scratch, child. What do you do here Go back, go 
back.’ 

Ayacanora slipped back like a scolded child, and vanished in 
the darkness. 

The battle was over. The Spaniards, seeing their command- 
ers fall, laid down their arms, and crield for quarter. It was 
given ; the poor fellows were tied together, two and two, and 
seated in a row on the deck ; the commandant, sorely bruised, 
yielded himself perforce; and the galleon was taken. 

Amyas hurried forward to get the sails set. As he went 
down the poop-ladder, there was some one sitting on the lowest 
step. 

‘ Who is here — wounded ? ’ 

‘ I am not wounded^ said a woman’s voice, low, and stifled 
with sobs. 

^ It was Ayacanora. She rose, and let him pass. He saw 
that h_er face was bright with tears : but he hurried on, never- 
theless. 

‘ Perhaps I did speak a little hastily to her, considering she 
saved my life ; but what a brimstone it is ! Mary Ambree in 
a dark skin ! Now, then, lads ! Get the Santa Fe gold up out 
of the canoes, and then we will put her head to the north-east, 


468 


HOW THEY TOOK 


and away for old England. Mr. Brimblecombe, don’t say that 
Eastward-ho don’t bring luck this time.’ 

It was impossible, till morning dawned, either to get matters 
into any order, or to overhaul the prize they had taken ; and 
many of the men were so much exhausted, that they fell fast 
asleep on the deck ere the surgeon had lime to dress their 
wounds. However, Amyas contrived, when once the ship was 
leaping merrily close-hauled against a fresh land-breeze, to 
count his little flock, and found out of the forty-four but six 
seriously wounded, and none killed. However, their working 
numbers were now reduced to thirty-eight, beside the four 
negroes, a scanty crew enough to take home such a ship* to 
England. 

After awhile, up came Jack Brimblecombe on deck, a bottle 
in his hand. 

‘ Lads, a prize ! ’ 

‘ Well, we know that already.’ 

‘ Nay, but — look hither, and laid in ice, too, as I live, the 
luxurious dogs ! But I had to fight for it, I had. For when I 
went down into the state pabin, after I had seen to the wounded, 
whom should I find loose but that Indian lass, who had just 
unbound the fellow you caught — ’ 

‘ Ah ! those two, I believe, were going to murder the old man 
in the hammock, if we had not^come in the nick of time. What 
have you done with them ? ’ 

‘ Why, the Spaniard run when he saw me, and got into a 
cabin : but the woman, instead of running, came at me with a 
knife, and chased me round the table like a very cat-a-moun- 
tain. So I ducked under the old man’s hammock, and out into 
the gallery ; and when 1 thought the coast was clear, back 
again I came, and stumbled over this. So I just picked it up, 
and ran on deck with rnytail between my legs, for I expected 
verily to have the black woman’s knife between my ribs out of 
some dark corner.’ 

‘ Well done. Jack ! Let’s have the wine, nevertheless, and 
then down to set a guard on the cabin-doors, for fear of plun- 
dering.’ 

‘ Better go down, and see that nothing is thrown overbcTard 
by Spaniards. As for plundering, I will settle that.’ 

And Amyas walked forward among the men. 

‘ Muster the men, boatswain, and count them.’ 

‘ All here. Sir, but the six poor fellows who are laid for- 
ward.’ 

‘ Now, my men,’ said Amyas, ‘ for three years you and I 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


469 


have wandered on the face of the earth, seeking our fortune ; 
and we have found it at last, thanks be to God ! Now, what 
was our promise and vow which we made to God beneath the 
tree of Guayara, if He should grant us good fortune, and bring 
us home again with a prize ? Was it not, that the dead should 
share with the living; and that every man’s portion, if he fell, 
‘ should go to his widow or his orphans, or if he had none, to his 
parents ? ’ 

‘It was. Sir,’ said Yeo, ‘ and I trust that the Lord will give 
these men grace to keep their vow. They have seen enough 
of His providences by this time to fear Him.’ 

‘ I doubt them not : but 1 remind them of it. The Lord has 
put into our hands a rich prize ; and what with the gold which 
we have already, we are well paid for all our labors. Let us 
thank Him, with fervent hearts, as soon as the sun rises ; and 
in the meanwhile, remember all, that whosoever plunders on 
his private account, robs not the adventurers merely, but the 
orphan and the widow, which is to rob God ; and makes himself 
partaker of Achan’s curse, who hid the wedge of gold, and 
brought down God’s anger on the whole army of Israel. For, 
me, lest you should think me covetous, I could claim my 
brother’s share ; but I hereby give it up freely into the common 
stock, for the use of the whole ship’s crew, who have stood by 
me through weal and woe as men never stood before, as I 
believe, by any captain. So, now to prayers, lads, and then to 
eat our breakfast.’ 

So, to the Spaniards’ surprise (who most of them believed 
that the English were atheists), to prayers they went. 

After which, Brimblecombe contrived to inspire the black 
cook and the Portuguese steward with such energy, that by 
seven o’clock the latter worthy appeared on deck, and with 
profound reverences, announced to ‘ The most excellent and 
heroical Seiior Adelantado Captain Englishman,’ that breakfast 
was ready in the state-cabin. 

‘ You will do us the honor of accompanying us as our guest. 
Sir, or our host, if you prefer the title,’ said Amyas, to the 
commandant, who stood by. 

‘ Pardon, Senor; but honor forbids me to eat with one who 
has offered to me the indelible insult of bonds.’ 

‘ Oh ! ’ said Amyas, taking off his hat, ‘ then pray accept on 
the spot my humble apologies for all which has passed, and my 
assurances that the indignities which you have unfortunately 
endured, were owing altogether to the necessities of war, and 
not to any wish to hurt the feelings of so valiant a soldier and 
gentleman.’ 


40 


470 


HOW THEY TOOK 


‘ It is enough, Senor,’ said the commandant, bowing and 
shrugging his shoulders — for, indeed, he too was very hungry ; 
while Cary whispered to Amyas, — 

‘ You will make a courtier yet, old lad.’ 

‘I am not in jesting humor, Will: my mind sadly rtiisgives 
me that we shall hear black news, and have, perhaps, to do a 
black deed yet, on board here. Senor, I follow you.’ 

So they went down, and found the bishop, who was by this 
time unbound, seated in a corner of the cabin, his hands fallen 
on his knees, his eyes staring on vacancy, while the two priests 
stood as close against the wall as they could squeeze them- 
selves, keeping up a ceaseless mutter of prayers. 

‘ Your holiness will breakfast with us, of course ; and these 
two frocked gentlemen, likewise. I see no reason for refusing 
them all hospitality, as yet.’ 

There was a marked emphasis on the last two words, which 
made both monks wince. 

‘ Our chaplain will attend to you, gentlemen. His lordship 
the bishop will do me the honor of sitting next to me.’ 

The bishop seemed to revive slowly as he snuffed the savory 
steam ; and, at last, rising mechanically, subsided into the chair 
which Amyas offered him on his left, while the commandant 
sat on his right. 

‘ A little of this kid, my lord ? No' — ah — Friday, I recol- 
lect. Some of that turtle-fin, then. Will, serve his lordship ; 
pass the cassava-bread up. Jack ! Senor Commandant ! a glass 
of wine ? You need it after your valiant toils. To the health 
of all brave soldiers — and a toast from your own Spanish 
proverb, “ To-day to me, to-morrow to thee ! ” ’ 

‘ I drink it, brave Senor. Your courtesy shows you the 
w^orthy countryman of General Drake, and his brave lieuten- 
ant.’ 

‘ Drake ! Did you know him, Senor > ’ asked all the English- 
men at once. 

‘ Too w^ell, too well ’ and he would have continued : but 

the bishop burst out — 

‘Ah, Senor Commandant! that name again ! Have you no 

mercy? To sit between another pair of and my own 

wine, too 1 Ugh, ugh ! ’ 

The old gentleman, whose mouth had been full of turtle the 
whole time, burst into a violent fit of coughing, and was only 
saved from apolpexy by Cary’s patting hiin on the back. 

‘ Ugh, ugh ! The tender mercies of the wdcked are cruel, 
and their precious balms . Ah, Senor Lieutenant English- 

man ! May I ask you to pass those limes ? Ah, what is turtle 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


471 


without lime ? Even as a fat old man without money ! Nudus 
mtravi, nudus exeo — ah ! ’ 

‘ But what of Drake ? ’ 

‘ Do you not know, Sir, that he and his fleet, only last year, 
swept the whole of this coast, and took, with shame 1 confess 

it, Carthagena, San Domingo, St. Augustine, and . I 

see you are too courteous, Senors, to express before me what 
you have a right to feel. But whence come you, Sir? From 
the skies, or the depth of the sea ? ’ 

‘ Art-magic, art- magic ! ’ moaned the bishop. 

‘ Your holiness ! It is scarcely prudent to speak thus here,’ 
said the commandant, who was nevertheless much of the same 
opinion. • 

‘ Why, you said so yourself last night, Senor, about the 
taking of Carthagena.’ 

The commandant blushed, and stammered out somewhat, — 
‘ That it was excusable in him, if he had said in jest, that so 
prodigious and curious a valor had not sprung from mortal 
source.’ 

‘No more it did, Senor,’ said Jack Brimblecombe, stoutly ; 
‘ but from Him who taught our “ hands to war, and onr fingers 
to fight.” ’ 

The commandant bowed stiffly. ‘ You will excuse me, Sir, 
Preacher; but I am-a Catholic, and hold the cause of my king 
to be alone the cause of Heaven. But, Senor Captain, how 
came you hither, if I may ask. -That you needed no art-magic 
after you came on board, I alas ! can testify but too well ; but 
what spirit — whether good or evil, I ask not — brought you on 
board, and whence ? Where is your ship ? I thought that all 
Drake’s squadron had left six months ago.’ 

‘ Our ship, Senor, has lain this three years rotting on the 
coast near Cape Codera.’ 

‘ Ah ? we heard of that bold adventure — but we thought 
you all lost in the interior.’ 

‘ You did ? Can you tell me, then, where the Senor Gov- 
ernor of La Guayra may be now ? ’ 

‘ The Senor Don Guzman de Soto,’ said the commandant, in 
a somewhat constrained tone, ‘ is said to be at present in Spain, 
having thrown up his office in consequence of domestic mat- 
ters, of which I have not the honor of knowing anything.’ 

Amyas longed to ask more : but he knew that the well-bred 
Spaniard would tell him nothing which concerned another 
man’s wife ; and went on. 

‘ VVhat befell us after, I tell you frankly.’ 

And Amyas told his story, from the landing at Guayra to 


472 


HOW THEY TOOK 


the passage down the Magdalena. The commandant lifted up 
his hands. 

‘ Were it not forbidden to me, as a Catholic, most invincible 
Senor, 1 should say that the Divine protection had indeed — ’ 

‘ Ah,’ said one of the friars, ‘ that you could be brought, 
Senors, to render thanks for your miraculous preservation to 
her to whom alone it is due, Mary, the fount of mercies ! ’ 

‘ We have done well enough without her as yet,’ said Amyas 
bluntly. 

‘ The Lord raised up Nebuchadnezzar of old to punish the 
sins of the Jewish church ; and he has raised up these men to 
punish ours ! ’ said Fray Gerundio. 

‘ But Nebuchadnezzar fell, and so may they,’ growled the 
other to hims(?lf. Jack overheard him. 

‘ I say, my Lord Bishop,’ called he from the other end of the 
table. “ It is our English custom, to let our guests be as rude as 
they like ; but, perhaps your Lordship will hint to these two 
friars, that if they wish to keep whole skins, they will keep 
civil tongues.’ 

‘ Be silent, asses ! mules ! ’ shouted the bishop, whose spirits 
were improving over the wine ; ‘ who are you, that you cannot 
eaf dirt as well as your betters ? ’ 

‘ Well spoken, my Lord. Here’s the health of our saintly 
and venerable guest,’ said Cary ; while the commandant whis- 
pered to Amyas, ‘ Fat old tyrant ! I hope you have found his 
money — for I am sure he has some on board, and I should be 
loth that you lost the advantage of it.’ 

‘ I shall have to say a few words to you about that money this 
morning, commandant ; by the bye, they had better be said 
now. My Lord Bishop, do you know that had we not taken 
this ship when we did, you had lost not merely money, as you 
have now, but life itself.? ’ 

‘ Money ? I had none to lose ! Life — what do you mean .? ’ 
asked the Bishop, turning very pale. 

‘ This, Sir. That it ill befits one to lie, whose throat has 
been saved from the assassin’s knife but four hours since. 
When we entered the stern-gallery, we found two persons, now 
on board this ship, in the very act, Sir, and article, of cutting 
your sinful throat, that they might rob you of the casket which 
lay beneath your pillow. A moment more, and you were dead. 
We seized and bound them, and so saved your life. Is that 
plain. Sir?’ 

The bishop looked steadfastly and stupidly into Amyas’s 
face, heaved a deep sigh, and gradually sank back in his chair, 
dropping the glass from his hand. 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


473 


‘ He is in a fit ! Call in the surgeon ! Run ! ’ and up 
jumped kind-hearted Jack, and brought in the surgeon of the 
galleon. 

‘ Is this possible, Senor ? ’ asked the commandant. 

‘ It is true. Door, there ! Evans ! Go and bring in that 
rascal whom we left bound in his cabin!’ 

Evans went, and the commandant continued, — 

‘ But the stern-gallery } How, in the name of all witches 
and miracles, came your valor thither.? ’ 

‘ Simply enough, and owing neither to witch nor miracle. 
The night before last we passed the mouth of the bay in our 
two canoes, which we had lashed together after the fashion I 
had seen in the Moluccas, to keep them afloat in the surf. We 
had scraped the canoes Bright the day before, and rubbed them 
with white clay, that they might be invisible at night ; and so 
we got safely to the Morro Grande, passing within half a mile 
of your ship I ’ 

‘.Oh! my scoundrels of sentinels!’ 

‘ We landed at the back of the Morro, and lay there all 
day, being purposed to do that which, with your pardon, we 
have done. We took our sails of Indian cloth, whitened them 
likewise with clay which we had brought with us from the 
river (expecting to find a Spanish ship as we went along the 
coast, and determined to attempt her, or die with honor), and 
laid them over us on the canoes, paddling from underneath 
them. So that had your sentinels been awake, they would 
have hardly made us out, till \ve were close on board. We 
had provided ourselves, instead of ladders, with bamboos rigged 
with cross-pieces, and a hook of strong wood at the top of each ; 
they hang at your stern-galleiy now. 'And the rest of the tale 
I need not tell you.’ 

The commandant rose in his courtly Spanish way, — 

‘Your admirable story, Senor, proves to me how truly your 
nation, while it has yet, and I trust will ever have, to dispute 
the palm of valor with our own, is famed throughout the world 
for ingenuity, and for daring beyond that of mortal man. You 
have succeeded, valiant Captain, because you have deserved 
to succeed ; and it is no shame to me to succumb to enemies, 
who have united the cunning of the serpent with the valor of 
the lion. Senor, I feel as proud of becoming your guest, as I 
should have been proud, under a happier star, of becoming 
your host.’ 

‘ You are, like your nation, only too generous, Senor. But 
what noise is that outside ? Cary, go and see.’ 

40 * 


474 


HOW THEY TOOK 


But ere Cary could reach the door, it was opened ; and 
Evans presented himself with a terrified face. 

‘ Here’s villany, Sir! The Don’s murJered, and cold ; the 
Indian lass fled ; and as we searched the ship for her, we found 
an Englishwoman, as I’m a sinful man! — and a shocking sight 
she is to see ! ’ 

‘'An Englishwoman ? ’ cried all three, springing forward. 

‘ Bring her in ! ’ said Amyas, turning very pale ; and as he 
spoke, Yeo and another led into the cabin a figure scarcely 
human. 

An elderly woman, dressed in the yellow ‘ San Benito ’ of 
the Inquisition, with ragged gray locks hanging about a coun- 
tenance distorted by suffering, and shrunk by famine. Pain- 
fully, as one unaccustomed to the light, she peered and blinked 
round her. Her fallen lip gave her a half-idiotic expression ; 
and yet there was an uneasy twinkle in the eye, as of boundless 
terror and suspicion. She lifted up her fettered wrist to shade 
her face ; and as she did so, disclosed a line of fearful scars 
upon her skinny arm. 

‘ Look there, sirs ! ’ said Yeo, pointing to them with a stern 
smile. ‘ Here’s some of these Popish gentry’s handiwork. I 
know well enough how those marks came ;’ and he pointed to 
the similar scars on his own wrist. 

The commandant, as well as the Englishmen, recoiled with 
horror. 

‘ Holy Virgin ! what wretch is this on board my ship > 
Bishop, is this the prisoner whom you sent on board ? ’ 

The bishop, who had been slowly recovering his senses, 
looked at her a moment ; and then thrusting his chair back, 
crossed himself, and almost screamed, ‘M.ilefica! Malefica ! 
Who brought her here? Turn her away, gentlemen; turn 
her eye away ; she will bewitch, fascinate’ — and he began 
muttering prayers. 

Amyas seized him by tjie shoulder and shook him on to his 
legs.^ 

‘ Swine ! who is this ? Wake up, coward, and tell me, or I 
will cut you piecemeal ! ’ 

But ere the bishop could answer, the woman uttered a wild 
shriek, and pointing to the taller of the two monks, cowered 
behind Yeo. 

‘ He here ? ’ cried she in broken Spanish. ‘Take me away ! 

I will tell you no more. I have told you all, and lies enough 
beside. Oh ! why is he come again ? Did they not say that I 
should have no more torments?’ 

The monk turned pale ; but like a wild beast at bay, glared 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


475 


firmly round on the whole company ; and then, fixing his dark 
eyes full on the woman, he bade her be silent so sternly,' that 
she shrank down like a beaten hound. 

‘ Silence, dog ! ’ said Will Cary, whose blood was up, and ' 
followed his word with a blow on the monk’s mouth, which 
silenced him effectually. 

‘Don’t be afraid, good woman, but speak English. We are 
all English here, and Protestants too. Tell us what they have 
done to you.’ % 

‘ Another trap ! another trap ! ’ said she, in a strong Devon- 
shire accent. ‘ You be no English ! You want to make me 
lie again, and then torment me. Oh! wretched, wretched that 
T am 1 ’ cried she, bursting into tears. ‘ Whom should I trust.? 
Not myself ; no, nor God ; for I have denied him 1 O Lord ! 
O Lord 1 ’ 

Amyas stood silent with fear and horror ; some instinct told 
him, that he was on the point of hearing news for which he 
feared to ask. But Jack spoke, — 

‘ My dear soul ! my dear soul ! don’t you be afraid ; and the. 
Lord will stand by you, if you will but tell the truth. We are 
all-Englishmen and men of Devon, as you seem to be by your 
speech ; and this ship is ours ; and the Pope himself shan’t 
touch you.’ 

‘ Devon .? ’ she said, doubtingly ; ‘ Devon ? Whence, then .? ’ 

‘ Bideford men. This is Mr. Will Cary, of Clovelly. If 
you are a Devon woman, you’ve heard tell of the Carys, to be 
sure.’ 

The woman made a rush forward, and threw her fettered 
arms round Will’s neck, — 

‘Oh, Mr. Cary, my dear life ! Mr. Cary ! and so you be ! 
Oh, dear soul alive ! but you’re burnt so brown, and I be ’most 
blind with misery. Oh, who ever sent you here, my dear Mr. 
Will, then, to save a poor wretch from the pit.? ’ 

‘ Who on earth are you ? ’ 

‘ Lucy Passmore, the White Witch of Welcombe. Don’t you 
mind Lucy Passmore, as charmed your warts for you when 
you was a boy ? ’ 

‘ Lucy Passmore ! ’ almost shrieked all three friends. ‘ She 
that went off with — ’ 

‘Yes! she that sold her own soul, and persuaded that dear 
saint to sell hers ; she that did the devil’s work, and has taken 
the devil’s wages ; — after this fashion ! ’ and she held up her 
scarred wrists wildly. 

‘ Where is Dona de — Rose Salterne .? ’ shouted Will and 
Jack. 


476 


HOW THEY TOOK 


‘ Where is my brother Frank ? ’ shouted Amyas. 

‘ Dead, dead, dead ! ’ 

‘ I knew it; ’ said Amyas sitting down again calmly. 

‘ How did she die ? ’ 

‘The Inquisition — he!’ pointing to the monk. ‘Ask him 
— he betrayed her to her death. And ask him I’ pointing to 
the bishop ; ‘ he sat by and saw her die.’ 

‘ Woman, you rave ! ’ said the bishop, getting up with a terri- 
fied air, and moving as far as possible from Amyas. 

‘ How did my brother die, Lucy ? ’ asked Amyas, still 
calmly. 

‘ Who be you. Sir ? ’ 

A gleam of hope flashed across Amyas — she had not 
answered his question. 

‘ I am Amyas Leigh, of Burrough. Do you know aught of 
my brother Frank, who was lost at La Guayra ? ’ 

‘ Mr. Amyas! Heaven forgive me that I did not know the 
bigness of you. Your brother. Sir, died like a gentleman as 
he was.’ 

‘ But how ? ’ gasped Amyas. 

‘ Burned with her. Sir ! ’ 

‘ Is this true. Sir ? ’ said Amyas, turning to the bishop, with 
a very quiet voice. 

‘I, Sir?’ stammered he, in panting haste. ‘ I had nothing 
to do — I was compelled in my office of bishop to be an 
unwilling spectator — the secular arm. Sir ; I could not interfere 
with that — any more than I can with the Holy Office. I do 
not belong to it — ask that gentleman — Sir ? Saints and angels. 
Sir ! what are you going to do ? ’ shrieked he, as Amyas laid a 
heavy hand upon his shoulder, and began to lead him towards 
the door. 

‘ Hang you ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ If I had-been a Spaniard and 
a priest, like yourself, I should have burnt you alive.’ 

‘Hang me ? ’ shrieked the wretched old Balaam ; and burst 
into abject howls for mercy. 

‘ Take the dark monk, Yeo, and hang him too. Lucy Pass- 
more, do you know that fellow also ? ’ 

‘ No, Sir,’ said Lucy. 

‘ Lucky for you. Fray Gerundio,’ said Will Cary ; while the 
good friar hid his face in his hands, and burst into tears. Lucky 
it was for him, indeed; for he had been a pitying spectator 
of the 'tragedy. ‘Ah!’ thQ,ught he, ‘ if life in this mad and 
sinful world be a reward, perhaps this escape is vouchsafed to 
me for having pleaded the cause of the poor Indian ! ’ 

But the bishop shrieked on. 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


477 


‘'Oh ! not yet. An hour, only an hour ! I am not fit to 
die.’ 

‘ That is no concern of mine,’ said Amyas. ‘ I only know 
that you are not fit to live.’ 

‘ Let us at least make our peace with God,’ said the dark 
monk. 

‘ Hound ! if your saints can really smuggle you up the back- 
stairs to heaven, they will do it without five minutes more 
coaxing and flattering.’ 

Fray Gerundio and the condemned man alike stopped their 
ears at the blasphemy. 

‘ Oh, Fray Gerundio ! ’ screamed the bishop, ‘ pray for me ! 
I have treated you like a beast. Oh, Fray, Fray ! ’ 

‘ Oh, my Lord ! my Lord ! ’ said the good man, as with tears 
streaming down his face he followed his shrieking and strug- 
gling diocesan up the stairs, ‘ Who am I ? Ask no pardon of 
me. Ask pardon of God for all your sins against the poor 
innocent savages, when you saw your harmless sheep butchered 
year after year, and yet never lifted up your voice to save 
the flock which God had committed to you. Oh, confess that, 
my Lord ! confess it, ere it be too late ! ’ 

‘ I will confess all about the Indians, and the gold, and Tita 
too. Fray; peccavi^ peccavi — only five minutes, Senors, five 
little minutes’ grace, while I confess to the good Fray!’ — and 
he grovelled on the deck. 

‘ I will have no such mummery w^here I command,’ said 
Amyas, sternly. ‘ I will be no accomplice in cheating Satan of 
his due.’ 

‘ If you will confess,’ said Brimblecombe, whose heart was 
melting fast, ‘ confess to the Lord, and He will forgive you. 
Even at the last moment mercy is open. Is it not. Fray Ge- 
rundio ? ’ • 

‘ It is, Sefior; it is, my Lord,’ said Gerundio ; but the bishop 
only clasped his hands over his head. 

‘ Then I am undone ! All my money is stolen ! Not a 
farthing left to buy masses for my poor soul ! And no absolu- 
tion, no viaticum, nor anything ! I die like a dog, and am 
damned ! ’ 

‘ Clear away that running rigging ! ’ said Amyas, while the 
dark Dominican stood perfectly collected, with something of 
a smile of pity at the miserable bishop. A man accustomed to 
cruelty, and firm in his fanaticism, he was as ready to endure 
suffering as to inflict it ; repeating to himself the necessary 
prayers, he called Fray Gerundio to witness that he died, how- 
ever unworthy, a martyr, in charity with all men, and in the 


478 


HOW THEY TOOK 


communion of the Holy Catholic Church ; and then, as he fitted 
the cord to his own neck, gave Fray Gerundio various petty 
commissions about his sister, and her children, and a little 
vjneyard far away upon the sunny slopes of Castile ; and so 
died, with a ‘ Domine in manus tuas^' like a valiant man of 
Spain. 

Amyas stood long in solemn silence, watching the two 
corpses dangling above his head. At last he drew a long 
breath, as if a load was taken off his heart. 

Suddenly he looked round to his men, who were watching 
eagerly, to know what he would have done next. 

‘ Hearken to me, my masters all, and may God hearken too, 
and do so to me, and more also, if, as long as I have eyes to 
see a Spaniard, and hands to hew him down, I do any other 
thing than hunt down that accursed nation day and night, and 
avenge all the innocent blood which has been shed by them 
since the day in which King Ferdinand drove out the Moors! ’ 

‘ Amen ! ’ said Salvation Yeo. ‘ I need not to swear that 
oath ; for I have sworn it long ago, and kept it. Will your 
honor have us kill the rest of the idolaters ? ’ 

‘ God forbid ! ’ said Cary. ‘ You would not do that, Amyas ? ’ 

‘ No ; we will spare them. God has shown us a great mercy 
this day, and we must be merciful in it. We will land them at 
Cabo Veto. But henceforth till I die no quarter to a Spaniard. 

‘ Amen ! ’ said Yeo. 

Amyas’s whole countenance had changed in the last half- 
hour. He seemed to have grown years older. His brow was 
wrinkled, his lip compressed, his eyes full of a terrible stony 
calm, as of one who had formed a great and dreadful purpose-; 
and yet for that very reason could afford to be quiet under the 
burden of it, even cheerful ; and when he . returned to the 
cabin he bowed courteously to the commandant, begged pardon 
of him for having played the host so ill, and entreated him to 
finish his breakfast. 

‘ But, Senor — it it possible ? Is his holiness dead ? ’ 

‘ He is hanged and dead, Senor. I would have hanged, 
could I have caught them, every living thing which was present 
at my brother’s death, even to the very flies upon the wall. No 
more words, Senor; your conscience tells you that I am just.’ 

‘ Senor,’ said the commandant — ‘ one word — I trust there 
are no listeners — none of my crew, I mean ; but I must excul- 
pate myself in your eyes.’ 

‘ Walk out, then, into the gallery with me.’ 

‘To tell you the truth, Senor — I trust in Heaven no one 
overhears — you are just. This Inquisition is the curse of us, 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


479 


the weight which is crushing out the very life of Spain. No 
man dares speak. No man dares trust his neighbor, no, not 
his child, or the wife of his bosom. It avails nothing to be a 
good Catholic, as I trust lam,’ and he crossed himself, ‘ when 
any villain whom you may offend, any unnatural son or wife 
who wishes to be rid of you, has but to hint heresy against you, 
and you vanish into the Holy Office — and then God have 
mercy on you, for man has none. Noble ladies of my family, 
Sir, have vanished thither, carried off by night, we know not 
why ; we dare not ask why. To expostulate, even to inquire, 
would have been to share their fate. There is one now, Senor 

— Heaven alone knows whether she is alive or dead ! It was 
nine years since ; and we have never heard ; and we shall 
never hear.’ 

And the commandant’s face worked frightfully. 

‘ She was my sister, Senor ! ’ 

Heavens ! Sir, and have you not avenged her ? ’ 

‘On churchmen, Senor, and I a Catholic-? To be burned 
at the stake in this life, and after that to all eternity beside ? 
Even a Spaniard dare not face that. Sir, may all the saints in 
heaven obtain me forgiveness for my blasphemy, but when I 
saw you just now fearing those ‘churchmen no more than you 
feared me, I longed, sinner that I am, to be a heretic like you.’ 

‘ It will not take long to make a brave and wise gentleman 
who has suffered such things as you have, a heretic, as you call 
it — a free Christian man as we call it.’ ’ 

‘Tempt me not, Sir!’ said the poor man, crossing himself 
fervently. ‘ Let us say no more. Obedience is my duty ; and 
for the rest the Church must decide, according to her infallible 
authority — for 1 am a good Catholic, Senor, the best of Catho- 
lics, though a great sinner. I trust no one has overheard us ! ’ 

Amyas left him with a smile of pity, and went to look for 
Lucy Passmore, whom the sailors were nursing and feeding, 
while Ayacanora watched them with a puzzled face. 

‘ I will talk to you when you are better, Lucy,’ said he, tak- 
ing her hand. ‘ Now you must eat and drink, and forget all 
among us lads of Devon.’ 

‘ Oh, dear blessed Sir, and you will send Sir John to pray 
with me? For 1 turned. Sir, I turned ; but I could not help it 

— 1 could not abear the torments; but she bore them, sweet 
angel — and more than I did. Oh, dear me ! ’ 

‘ Lucy, I am not fit now to hear more. You shall tell me all 
to-morrow and he turned away. 

‘ Why do you take her hand ? ’ said Ayacanora, half scorn- 
fully. ‘ She is old, and ugly, and dirty.’ 


480 


HOW THEY TOOK 


‘ She is an Englishwoman, child, and a martyr, poor thing ; 
and I would nurse her as I would my own mother.’ 

‘ Why don’t you make me an Englishwoman and a martyr? 

I could learn how to do anything that that old hag could do ! ’ 

‘Instead of calling her names, go and tend her; that would 
be much fitter work for a woman than fighting among men.’ 

Ayacanora darted from him, thrust the sailors aside, and 
took possession of Lucy Passmore. 

‘ VVhere shall I put her > ’ asked she, of Amyas, without 
looking up. 

‘ In the best cabin ; and let her be served like a queen, lads.’ • 

‘ No one shall touch her but me ; ’ and taking up the 
withered frame in her arms, as if it were a doll, Ayacanora 
walked off with her in triumph, telling the men to go and mind 
the ship. 

‘ The girl is mad,’ said one. 

‘ Mad or not,’. she has an eye to our captain,’ said another. 

‘ And where’s the man that would behave to the poor wild 
thing as he does ? ’ 

‘ Sir Francis Drake would, from whom he got his lesson. Do 
you mind his putting the negro lass ashore, alter he found out 
about — ’ 

‘ Hush. Bygones be bygones, and those that did it are in 
their graves long ago. But it was too hard of him on the poor • 
thing.’ 

‘ if he had not got rid of her, there would have been more 
throats than one cut about the lass, that’s all I know,’ said 
another ; ‘ and so there would have been about this one before 
now, if the captain wasn’t a born angel out of heaven, and the 
lieutenant no less.’ 

‘ VVell, I suppose we may get a whet by now. I wonder if 
these Dons have any beer aboard.’ 

‘ Nought but grape-vinegar, which fools call wine, I’ll war- 
rant.’ 

‘ There was better than vinegar on the table in there just 
now.’ 

‘ Ah,’ said one grumbler of true English breed, ‘ but that’s 
not for poor fellows like we.’ 

‘ Don’t lie, Tom Evans ; you never were given that way yet, 
and I don’t think the trade will suit a good fellow like you.’ 

The whole party stared ; for the S[)eaker of these words was 
none other than Amyas himself, who had rejoined them, a bottle 
in each hand. 

‘No, Tom Evans. It has been share and share alike for 
three years, and bravely you have all held' up, and share alike 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


481 


it shall be now, and here’s the handsel of it. We’ll serve out 
the good wine fairly all round as long as it lasts, and then take 
to the bad : but mind you, don’t get drunk, my sons, for we 
are much too short of hands to have any stout fellows lying 
about the scuppers.’ 

But what was the story of the intendant’s being murdered.^ 
Brimblecombe had seen him run into a neighboring cabin ; and 
when the door of it was opened, there was the culprit, but dead 
and cold, with a deep knife-wound in his side. Who could 
have done the deed > It must have been Tita, whom Brimble- 
combe had seen loose, and trying to free her lover. 

The ship was searched from stem to stern : but no Tita. 
The mystery was never explained. That she had leapt over- 
board, and tried to swim ashoi'fe, none doubted : but whether 
she had reached it, who could tell ? One thing was strange ; 
that not only had she carried off no treasure with her, but that 
the gold ornaments which she had worn the night before, lay 
together in a heap on the table, close by the murdered man. 
Had she wished to rid herself of everything which had belonged 
to her tyrants .? 

The commandant heard the whole story thoughtfully. 

‘ Wretched man ! ’ said he, ‘ and he has a wife and children 
in Seville.’ 

‘A wife and children.?’ said Amyas; and I heard him 
promise marriage to the Indian girl.’ 

That was the only hint which gave a reason for his death. 
What if, in the terror of discovery and capture, the scoundrel 
had dropped any self-condemning words about his marriage, 
and prayer for those whom he had left behind, and the Indian 
had overheard them .? It might be so ; at least, sin had brought 
its own punishment. 

And so that wild night and day subsided. The prisoners 
were kindly used enough ; for the Englishman, free from any 
petty love of tormenting, knows no mean between killing a foe 
outright, and treating him as a brother ; and when, two days 
afterwards, they were sent ashore in the canoes off Cabo Velo, 
captives and captors shook hands all around ; and Amyas, after 
returning the commandant his sword, and presenting him with 
a case of the bishop’s wine, bowed him courteously over the 
side. 

‘ I trust that you will pay us another visit, valiant Sehor 
Capitan,’ said the Spaniard, bowing and smiling. 

‘ I should most gladly accept your invitation, illustrious 
Senor Commandant ; but as I have vowed henceforth, when- 
41 


482 


HOW THEY TOOK 


ever I shall meet a Spaniard, neither to givq nor tahe quarter, 
1 trust that our paths to glory may lie in different directions.’ 

The commandant shrugged his shoulders; the ship was put 
again before the wind, and as the shores of the Main faded 
lower and dimmer behind her, a mighty cheer broke from all 
on board ; and for once the cry from every mouth was East- 
ward-ho ! 

Scrap by scrap, as weakness and confusion of intellect per- 
mitted her, Lucy Passmore told her story. It was a simple one 
after all, and Amyas might almost have guessed it for himself. 
Rose had not yielded to the Spaniard without a struggle. He 
had visited her two or three times at Lucy’s house (how he 
found out Lucy’s existence she^ herself could never tell, unless 
from the Jesuits) before she agreed to go with him. He had 
gained Lucy to his side by huge promises of Indian gold ; and 
in fine, they had gone to Lundy, where the lovers were mar- 
ried by a priest, who was none other, Lucy would swear, than 
the shorter and stouter of the two who had curried off her 
husband and his boat — in a word. Father Parsons. 

Amyas gnashed his teeth at the thought that he had had 
Parsons in his power at Braunton Down, and let him go. It was 
a fresh proof to him that Heaven’s vengc'ance was upon him 
for letting one of its enemies escape. Though what good to 
Rose or P'rank the hanging of Parsons would have been, I, for 
my part. Cannot see. 

But when had Eustace been at Lundy ? Lucy could throw 
no light on that matter. It was evidently some by-thread in 
the huge spider’s web of Jesuit intrigue, which was, perhaps, 
not worth knowing, after all. 

They sailed from Lundy in a Portugal ship, were at Lisbon 
a few days (during which Rose and Lucy remained on board), 
and then away for the West Indies ; while all went merry as a 
marriage bell. ‘Sir, he would have kissed the dust off her 
dear feet, till that evil eye of Mr. Eustace’s came, no one knew 
how or whence.’ And, from that time, all went wrong. Eus- 
tace got power over Don Guzman, whether by threatening that 
the marriage should be dissolved, whether by working on his 
superstitious scruples about leaving his wife still a heretic, or 
whether (and this last Lucy much suspected) by insinuations 
that her heart was still at home in England, and that she was 
longing for Amyas and his ship to come and take her home 
again ; the house soon became a den of misery, and Eustace 
the presiding evil genius. Don Guzman had even commanded 
him to leave it — and he went: but, somehow, within a week 
he was there again, in greater favor than ever. Then came 


THE GREAT GALLEON. 


483 


preparations to meet the English, and high words about it be- 
tween Don (iruzman and Rose ; till a few days before Amyas’s 
arrival, the Don had dashed out of the house in a fury ; saying 
openly that she preferred these Lutheran dogs to him, and that 
he would have their hearts’ blood first, and hers after. 

The rest was soon told. Amyas knew but too much of it 
already. The very morning after he had gone up to the villa, 
Lucy and her mistress were taken (they knew not by whom) 
down to the quay, in the name of the Holy Office, and shipped 
off to Carthagena. 

There they were examined and confronted on a charge of 
witchcraft, which the wretched Lucy could not well deny. She 
was tortured to make her incujpate Rose ; and what she said 
or did not say, under the torture, the poor wretch could never 
tell. She recanted, and became a Romanist ; Rose remained 
firm. Three weeks afterwards, they were brought out to an 
Auto da Fe ; and there, for the first time, Lucy saw Frank 
walking, dressed in a San Benito, in that ghastly procession. 
Lucy was adjudged to receive publicly two hundred stripes, 
and to be sent to ‘ The Holy House ’ at Seville to perpetual 
prison. Frank and -Rose, with a renegade Jew, and a negro 
who had been convicted of practising ‘ Obi,’ were sentenced to 
death as impenitent, and delivered over to the secular arm, 
with prayers that there might be no shedding of blood. In com- 
pliance with which request, the Jew and the negro were burnt 
at one stake, Frank and Rose at another. She thought they 
did not feel it more than twenty minutes. They were both 
very bold and steadfast, and held each other’s hand (that she 
would swear to) to the very last. 

And so ended Lucy Passmore’s story. And if Amyas 
Leigh, after he had heard it, vowed afresh to give no quarter to 
the Spaniards wherever he should find them, who can wonder, 
even if they blame ? 


481 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

HOW SALVATION YEO FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 

* All precious things discover’d late, 

To them who seek them issue forth ; 

For love in sequel works with fate, 

And draws the veil from hidden worth.’ 

The Sleeping Beauty. 

And so Ayacanora took up her abode in Lucy’s cabin, as a 
regularly accredited member of the crew. 

But the most troublesome member ; for now began in her that 
perilous crisis, which seems to endangler the bodies and souls 
of all savages and savage tribes, when they first mingle with 
the white man ; that crisis which, a few years afterwards, 
began to hasten the extermination of the North American 
tribes; and had it not been for the admirable good sense and 
constancy of Amyas, Ayacanora might have ended even more 
miserably than did the far-famed Pocahontas, daughter of the 
Virginian King : who, after having been received at court by 
the old pedant James the First, with the honors of a sister sov- 
ereign, and having become the reputed ancestress of more than 
one ancient Virginian family, ended her days in wretchedness 
in some Wapping garret. 

. For the mind of the savage, crushed by the sight of the 
white man’s superior skill, and wealth, and wisdom, loses at 
first its self-respect ; while his body, pampered with easily- 
obtained luxuries, instead of having to win the necessaries of 
life by heavy toil, loses iis self-helpfulness; and with self- 
respect and self-help vanish all the savage virtues, few and 
flimsy as they are, and the downward road toward begaino- and 
stealing, sottishness and idleness, is easy, if not sure. 

And down that road, it really seemed at fir.st, that poor Aya- 
canora was walking fast. For the warrior-prophetess of the 
Omaguas soon became, to all appearance, nothing but a very 
naughty child ; and the Diana of Meta, after she had satis- 
fied her simple wonder at the great floating house by rambling 


FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 


485 


from deck to deck, and peeping into every cupboard and 
cranny, manifested a great propensity to steal and hide (she 
was too proud or too shy to ask for) every trumpery which 
smit her fancy ; and when Amyas forbade her to take anything 
without leave, threatened to drown herself, and went off and 
sulked all day in her cabin. Nevertheless, she obeyed him, 
except in the matter of sweet things. Perhaps she craved 
naturally for the vegetable food of her native forests ; at all 
events, the bishop’s stores of fruit and sweetmeats diminished 
rapidly; and what was worse, so did the sweet Spanish wine, 
which Amyas had set apart for poor Lucy’s daily cordial. 
Whereon another severe lecture, in which Amyas told her 
how mean it was to rob poor sick Lucy ; whereat she as usual 
threatened to drown herself ; and was running upon deck to do 
it, when Amyas caught her, and forgave her. On which a 
violent fit of crying, and great penitence and promises ; and a 
week after, Amyas found .she had cheated Satan and her own 
conscience, by tormenting the Portuguese steward into giving 
her some other wine instead : but luckily for her, she found 
Amyas’s warnings about wine making her mad so far fulfilled, 
that she did several foolish things one evening, and had a bad 
headache next morning; so the murder was out, and Amyas 
ordered the steward up for a sound flogging : but Ayacanora, 
honorably enough, not only begged him off, but offered to be 
whipped instead of him, confessing that the poor fellow spoke 
truly, when he swore that she had threatened to kill him, and 
that he had given her the wine in bodily fear for his life. 

However, her own headache and Amyas’s cold looks were 
lesson enough, and after another attempt to drown herself, the 
wilful beauty settled down for awhile ; and what was better, 
could hardly be persuaded, thenceforth to her dying day, to 
touch fermented liquors. 

But in the meanwhile, poor Amyas had many a brains-beating 
as to how he was to tame a lady, who on the least provocation 
took refuge in suicide. Punish her he dared not, even if he had 
the heart : and as for putting her ashore, he had an instinct, 
and surely not a superstitious one, that her strange affection for 
the English was not unsent by Heaven, and that God had 
committed her into his charge, and that He would require an 
account at his hands of the soul of that fair lost lamb. 

So almost at his wit’s end, he prayed to God, good simple 
fellow, and that many a tirne, tq show him what he should do 
with her, before she killed either herself, or what was just as 
likely, one of the crew ; and it seemed best to him to make 
Parson Jack teach her the rudiments of Christianity, that she 
4H 


486 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


might be baptized in due time when they got borne to Eng- 
land. 

But here arose a fresh trouble, for she roundly refused to 
learn of Jack, or of any one but Amyas himself; while he 
had many a good reason for refusing the office of school- 
master; so, for a week or two more, Ayacanora remained 
untaught, save in the English tongue, which she picked up 
with marvellous rapidity. 

And next, as if troubles would never end, she took a violent 
dislike not only to John Brimblecombe, whose gait and voice 
she openly mimicked for the edification of the men ; but also 
to Will Cary, whom she never allowed to speak to her or ap- 
proach her. Perhaps she was jealous of his intimacy with 
Amyas : or perhaps, with the subtle instinct of a woman, she 
knew that he was the only other man on board who might dare 
to make love to her (though Will, to do him justice, was as 
guiltless of any such intention as Amyas himself). But when 
she was remonstrated with, her only answer was, that Cary was 
a cacique, as well as Amyas, and that there ought not to be 
two caciques ; and one day she actually proposed to Amyas to 
kill his supposed rival, and take the ship all to himself ; and 
sulked for several days at hearing Amyas, amid shouts of 
laughter, retail her precious advice to its intended victim. 

Moreover, the negroes came in for their share, being regard- 
ed all along by her with an unspeakable repugnance, which 
showed itself at first in hiding from them whenever she could, 
and afterwards, in throwing at them everything she could lay 
hands on, till the poor Quashies, in danger of their lives, com- 
plained to Amyas, and got rest for awhile. 

Over the rest of the sailors she lorded it like a very princess, 
calling them from their work to run on her errands and make 
toys for her, enforcing her commands now and then by a 
shrewd box on the ears, while the good fellows, especially old. 
Yeo, like true sailors, petted her, obeyed her, even jested with 
her, much as they might have done with a tame leopard, whose 
claws might be unsheathed and about their ears at any moment. 
But she amused them, and amused Amyas too. They must of 
course have a pet ; and what prettier one could they have .? 
And as for Amyas, the constant interest of her presence, even 
the constant anxiety of her wilfulness, kept his mind busy, and 
drove out many a sad foreboding about that meeting with his 
mother, and the tragedy which he had to tell her, which would 
otherwise, so heavily did they weigh on him, have crushed his 
spirit with melancholy, and made all his worldly success and 
marvellous deliverance worthless in his eyes. 


FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 


487 


At last the matter, as most things luckily do, came to a cli- 
max ; and it came in this way. 

The ship had been slipping along now for many a day, 
slowly but steadily, before a favorable breeze. She had passed 
the ring of the West India islands, and was now crawling, safe 
from all pursuit, through the vast weed-beds of the Sargasso 
Sea. There, for the first time, it was thought safe to relax 
the discipline which had been hitherto kept up, and to ‘ rum- 
mage’ (as was the word in those days) their noble prize. 
What they found, of gold and silver, jewels, and merchandise, 
will interest no readers. Suffice it to say, that there was 
enough there, with the other treasure, to make Amyas rich for 
life, after all claims of Cary’s and the crew, not forgetting 
Mr. Salterne's third, as owner of the ship, had been paid off. 
But in the captain’s cabin were found two chests, one full of 
gorgeous Mexican feather dresses, and the other of Spanish 
and East Indian finery, which having come by way of Havana 
and Carthagena, was going on, it seemed, to some Senora or 
other at the Caraccas. Which two chests were, at Cary’s pro- 
posal, voted amid the acclamations of the crew to Ayacanora, 
as her due and fit share of the pillage, in consideration of her 
Amazonian prowess and valuable services. 

So the poor child took greedy possession of the trumpery, 
had them carried into Lucy’s cabin, and there knelt gloating 
over them many an hour. The Mexican work she chose to 
despise as savage ; but the Spanish dresses were a treasure ; 
and for two or three days she appeared on the quarter-deck, 
sunning herself like a peacock before the eyes of Amyas in 
Seville mantillas, Madrid hats, Indian brocade farthingales, and 
I know not how many other gewgaws, and dare not say how 
put on. 

The crew tittered : Amyas felt much more inclined to cry. 
There is nothing so pathetic as a child’s vanity, saving a 
grown person aping a child’s vanity ; and saving, too, a child’s^ 
agony of disappointment when it finds that it has been laughed 
at instead of being admired. Amyas would have spoken, but 
he was afraid : however, the evil brought its own cure. The 
pageant went on, as its actor thought, most successfully for 
three days or so ; but at last the dupe, unable to contain herself 
longer, appealed to Amyas, — ‘Ayacanora quite English girl 
now ; is she not ’ — heard a titter behind her, looked round, 
saw a dozen honest fiices in broad grin, comprehended 
all in a moment, darted down the companion-ladder, and 
vanished. 

Amyas, fully expecting her to jump overboard, followed as 


488 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


fast as he could. But she had locked herself in with Lucy, and 
he could hear her violent sobs, and Lucy’s faint voice entreat- 
ing to know what was the matter. 

In vain he knocked. She refused to come out all day, and 
at even they were forced to break the door open, to prevent 
Lucy being starved. 

There sat Ayacanora, her finery half torn off, and scattered 
about the floor in spite, crying still as if her heart would break ; 
while poor Lucy cried too, half from fright and hunger, and 
half for company. 

Amyas tried to comfort the poor child, assured her that • 
the men should never laugh at her again ; ‘ But then,’ added 
he, ‘you must not be so — so — ’ What to say he hardly, 
knew. 

‘ So what ? ’ asked she, crying more bitterly than ever. 

‘ So like a wild girl, Ayacanora.’ 

Her .hands' dropped on her knees : a strong spasm ran 
through her throat and bosom, and she fell on her knees before 
him, and looked up imploringly in his face. 

‘Yes; wild girl — poor, bad wild girl But I will 

be English girl now ! ’ 

‘ Fine clothes will never make you English, my child,’ said 
Amyas. 

‘ No ! not English clothes — English heart ! Good heart, 
like yours ! Yes, I will be good, and Sir John shall teach 
me ! ’ 

‘ There’s my good maid,’ said Amyas. ‘ Sir John shall 
begin and teach you to-morrow.’ 

‘ No ! Now ! now ! Ayacanora cannot wait. She will 
drown herself if she is bad another day ! Come, now ! ’ 

And she made him fetch Brimblecombe,' heard the honest 
fellow patiently for an hour or more, and told Lucy that very 
night all that he had said. And from that day, whenever Jack 
went ‘in to read and pray with the poor sufferer, Ayacanora, 
instead of escaping on deck as before, stood patiently trying to 
make it all out, and knelt when he knelt, and tried to pray too 
— that she might have an English hej^rt ; and doubtless her 
prayers, dumb as they were, were not unheard. 

So went on a few days more, hopefully enough, without any 
outbreak, till one morning, just after they had passed the 
Sargasso-beds. The ship was taking care of herself ; the men 
were all on deck under the awning, tinkering, and cobbling, 
and chatting ; Brimblecombe was catechizing his fair pupil in 
the cabin ; Amyas and Cary, cigar in mouth, were chatting 
about all heaven and earth, and above all, of the best way of 


FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 


489 


getting up a fresh adventure against the Spaniards as soon as 
tiiey returned ; while Amyas was pouring out to Will that 
dark hatred of the whole nation, that dark purpose of revenge 
for his brother and for Rose, which had settled down like a 
murky cloud into every cranny of his heart and mind. Sud- 
denly there was a noise below ; a scuffle and a shout, which 
made them both leap to their feet ; and up on deck rushed Jack 
Brimblecombe, holding h’s head on with both his hands. 

‘ Save me ! save me from that she-fiend ! She is possessed 
with a legion ! She has broken my nose — torn out half my 
hair ! — and I’m sure I have none to spare ! Here she comes ! 
Stand by me, gentlemen both ! Satanas, I defy thee ! ’ And 
Jack ensconced himself behind the pair, as Ay acanora whirled 
upon deck like a very Magnad, and, seeing Amyas, stopped 
short. 

‘ If you had defied Satan down below there,’ said Cary, with 
a laugh, ‘ I suspect he wouldn’t have broken out on you so 
boldly. Master Jack.’ 

‘ I am innocent — innocent as the babe unborn! Oh! Mr. 
Cary! this is too bad of you. Sir!’ quoth Jack indignantly, 
while Amyas asked what was the matter. 

‘ He looked at me,’ said she, sturdily. 

‘ Well, a cat may look at a king.’ 

‘ But he shan’t look at Ayacanora. Nobody shall but you, 
or I’ll kill him ! ’ 

In vain Jack protested his innocence of having even looked 
at her. The fancy (and I verily believe it was nothing more) 
had taken possession of her. She refused to return below to 
her lesson. Jack went off grumbling, minus his hair, and wore 
a black eye for a week after. 

‘ At all events,’ quoth Cary, re-lighting his cigar, ‘ it’s a 
fault on the right side.’ 

‘ God give me grace, or it may be one on the wrong side for 
me.’ 

‘ He will, old heart-of-oak ! ’ said Cary, laying his arm round 
Amyas’s neck, to the evident disgust of Ayacanora, who went 
off to the side, got a fishing-line, and began amusing herself 
therewith, while the ship slipped on quietly and silently as 
ever, save when Ayacanora laughed and clapped her hands at 
the flying-fish scudding from the bonitos. At last, tired of 
doing nothing, she went forward to the poop-rail to listen to 
John Squire the armorer, who sat tinkering a head-piece,- 
and humming a song, mutato nomine^ concerning his native 
place, — 


490 ■ 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


‘ Oh, Bideford is a pleasant place, it shines where it stands, 
And the more I look upon it, the more my heart it warms ; 
For there are fair young lasses, in rows upon the quay, 

To welcome gallant mariners, when they come home from say.’ 


‘ ’Tis Sunderland, John Squire, to the song, and not Bidevor,’ 
said his mate. 

‘ Well, Bidevor’s so good as Sunderland any day. For all 
there’s no say-coals there blacking a place about ; and makes 
just so good harmonies. Tommy Hamblyn — 

‘ Oh, if I was a herring, to swim the ocean o’or. 

Or if I was a say-dove, to fly unto the shoor. 

To fly unto my true love, a waiting at the door. 

To wed her with a goold ring, and plough the main no moor.* 

Here Yeo broke in — 

‘ Arn’t you ashamed, John Squire, to your years, singing 
such carnal vanities, after all the providences you have seen ? 
Let the songs of Zion be in your mouth, man, if you must 
needs keep a caterwauling all day like that.’ 

‘ You sing ’em yourself then, gunner.’ 

‘ Well,’ says Yeo, ‘ and why not ? ’ ' And out he pulled his 
psalm-book, and began a scrap of the grand old psalm — 

‘ * Such as in ships and brittle barks 

, Into the seas descend, 

‘ Their merchandize through fearful floods 

i To compass and to end ; 

‘ There men are forced to behold 
The Lord’s works what they be ; 

And in the dreadful deep the same, 

• Most marvellous they see.* ‘ 

‘Humph!’ said John Squire. ‘Very good and godly: but 
still I du like a merry catch now and then, I du. Wouldn’t 
you let a body sing ‘ Rumbelow’ — even when he’s heaving of 
the anchor ^ ’ 

‘ Well, I don’t know : ’ said Yeo ; ‘ but the Lord’s people 
had better praise the Lord then too, and pray for a good 
voyage, instead of howling about — 

V 

‘ A randy, dandy, dandy, 0, 

A whet of ale and brandy 0, 

With a rumbelow and a westward-ho ! 

And heave my mariners all, 0 I * 


FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 491 

‘ Is that fit talk for for immortal souls ? How does that child’s- 
trade sound beside the Psalms, John Squire? ’ 

Now it befell that Salvation Yeo, for the very purpose of 
holding up to ridicule that time-honored melody, had put into 
it the true nasal twang, and rung it out as merrily as he had 
done perhaps twelve years before, when he got up John Oxen- 
ham’s anchor in Plymouth Sound. And it befell also, that 
Ayacanora, as she stood by Amyas’s side, watching the men, 
and trying to make out their chat, heard it, and started ; and 
then, half to herself, took up the strain, and sang it over again, 
word for word, in the very same tune and tone. 

Salvation Yeo started in his turn, and turned deadly pale. 

‘ Who sung that ? ’ he asked quickly. 

‘ The little maid here. She’s coming on nicely in her Eng- 
lish,’ said A my as. 

‘ The little maid ? ’ said Yeo, turning paler still. ‘ Why do 
you go about to scare an old servant, by talking of little maids, 
Captain Amyas ? Well,’ he said aloud to himself, ‘ as 1 am a 
sinful saint, if I hadn’t seen where the voice came from, I 
could have sworn it was her ; just as we taught her to sing it 
by the river there, I and William Penberthy of Marazion, my 
good comrade. The Lord have mercy on me ! ’ 

All were silent as the grave whenever Yeo made any allu- 
sion to that lost child. Ayacanora only, pleased with Amyas’s 
commendation, went humming on to herself — 

* And heave my mariners all, 0 ! ’ 

Y^eo started up from the gun where he sat. ‘ I can’t abear 
it ! As I live, 1 can’t ! You, Indian maiden, where did you 
learn to sing that there ? ’ 

Aycanora looked up at him, half frightened by his vehe- 
mence ; then at Amyas, to see if she bad been doing anything 
wrong ; and then turning saucily away, looked over the side, 
and hummed on. 

‘ Ask her, for mercy’s sake — ask her. Captain Leigh ? ’ 

‘ My child,’ said Amyas, speaking in Indian, ‘ how is it you 
sing that so much better than any other English ? Did you ever 
hear it before ? ’ 

Ayacanora looked up at him puzzled, and shook her head ; 
and then — 

‘ If you tell Indian to Ayacanora, she dumb. She must be 
English girl now, like poor Lucy.’ 

‘ Well, then,’ said Amyas, ‘do you recollect, Ayacanora — 


492 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


do you recollect — what shall I say ? — anything that happened 
when you were a little gid ? ’ 

She paused awhile ; and then moving her hands overhead — 

‘Trees — great trees like the Magdalena — always nothing 
but trees — wild and bad everything. Ayacanora won’t talk 
about that.’ 

‘ Do you mind anything that grew on those trees ? ’ asked 
Yeo, eagerly. 

She laughed. ‘ Silly ! Flowers, and fruit, and nuts — grow 
on all trees, and monkey-cups, too. Ayacanora climbed up 
after them — when she was wild. I won’t tell any more.’ 

‘ But who taught you to call them monkey-cups..? ’ asked 
Yeo, trembling with excitement. 

‘ Monkeys drink; mono drink.’ 

‘ Mono ? said Yeo, foiled on one cast, and now trying 
another. How did you know the beasts were called monos .? ’ 

‘ She might have heard it coming down with us,’ said Cary, ‘ 
who had joined the group. 

‘ Ay, monos,’ said she, in a self-justifying tone. ‘ Faces like 
little men, and tails. And one very dirty black one, with a 
beard, say Amen in a tree to all the other monkeys, just like 
Sir John on Sunday.’ 

This allusion to Brimblecombe and the preaching apes upset 
all but old Yeo. 

‘ But don’t you recollect any Christians .? — white people ? ’ 

She was silent. 

, ‘ Don’t you mind a white lady .? ’ 

‘ Urn .? ’ 

‘ A woman, a very pretty woman, with hair like his .? ’ point- 
ing to Arayas. 

‘ No.’ 

‘What do you mind, then, beside those Indians.?’ added 
Yeo, in despair. 

She turned her back on him peevishly, as if tired with the 
efForts of her memory. 

‘ Do try to remember,’ said A my as ; and she set to work 
again at once. 

‘ Ayacanora mind great monkeys — black, oh, so high,’ and 
she held up her hand above her head, and made a violent ges- 
ture of disgust. 

‘ Monkeys .? what, with tails .? ’ 

‘No, like man. Ah.? yes — just like Cooky, there — dirtv 
Cooky .? ’ ^ 

And that hapless son of Ham, who happened to be just cross- 


FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 


493 


ing the main-deck, heard a marling-spike, which by ill luck was 
laying at hand, flying past his ears. 

‘ Ayacanora, if you heave any more things at Cooky, I must 
have you whipped,’ said Amyas, without, of course, any such 
intention. 

‘ I’ll kill you, then,’ answered she, in the most matter-of-fact 
tone. 

‘She must mean Negurs,’ said Yeo. ‘ I wonder where she 
saw them, now. What if it were they Cimaroons ? ’ 

‘ But why should any one who had seen whites forget them, 
and yet remember negroes ? ’ asked Cary. 

‘ Let us try again. Do you mind no great monkeys but those 
black ones ? ’ asked Amyas. 

‘ Yes,’ said she, after awhile, — ‘ Devil.’ 

‘ Devil .? ’ asked all three, who, of course, were by no means 
free from the belief that the fiend did actually appear to the 
Indian conjurers, such as had brought up the girl. 

‘ Ah, him Sir John tell about on Sundays.’ 

‘ Save and help us ! ’ said Yco : ‘ and what was he like 
unto ? ’ 

She made various signs to intimate that he had a monkey’s 
face, and a gray beard like Yeo’s. So far so good : but now. 
came a series of manipulations about her pretty little neck, 
which set all their fancies at fault. 

‘ 1 know,’ said Cary, at last, bursting into a great laugh. 

‘ Sir Urian had a ruff on, as I live !* Trunk-hose, too, my fair 
dame ? Stop — I’ll make sure. Was his neck like the Senor 
Commandant’s, the Spaniard ? ’ 

Ayacanora clapped her hands at finding herself understood, 
and the questioning went on. 

‘ The “ Devil ’’"appeared like a monkey, with a gray beard, 
in a ruff; — humph! — ’ 

‘ Ay I ’ said she, in good enough Spanish, ‘ 3foiio de Pana- 
ma ; inejo diahlo de Panama."* 

Yeo threw up his hands with a shriek — 

‘ O, Lord of all mercies ! Those were the last words of Mr. 
John Oxenham ! Ay — .and the devil is surely none other than 
the devil Don Francisco Xararte ! Oh dear ! oh dear I oh 
dear ! my sweet young lady 1 my pretty little maid ! and don’t 
you know me } Don’t you know Salvation Yeo, that carried 
you over the mountains, and used to climb for the monkey-cups 
for you, my dear young lady } And Whlliam Penberthy, too, 
that used to get you flowers; and your poor dear fathei, that 
was just like Mr. Cary there, only he had a black beard, and 


494 


HOW SALVATION YEO 


black curls, and swore terribly in his speech, like a Spaniard, 
my dear young lady ? ’ 

And the honest fellow, falling on his knees, covered Ayaca- 
nora’s hands with kisses ; while all the crew, fancying him 
gone suddenly mad, crowded aft. 

‘ Steady, men, and don’t vex him ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ He thinks 
that he has found his little maid at last.’ 

‘ And so do I, Amyas, as I live,’ said Cary. 

‘ Steady, stea^^y, my masters all ! If this turn out a wrong 
scent, after all, his wits will crack. Mr. Yeo, can’t you think 
of any other token ? ’ 

Yeo stamped impatiently. ‘What need, then It’s her, I 
tell ye, and that’s enough ! What a beauty she’s grown ! Oh, 
dear ! where were my eyes all this time, to behold her, and 
not to see her! ’Tis her very mortal self, it is ! And don’t 
you mind me, my dear, now ? Don’t you mind Salvation Yeo, 
lhartaught you to sing “ Heave my mariners all, O ! ” a-sitting 
on a log by the boat upon the sand, and there was a sight of 
red lilies grew on it in the moss, dear, now, wasn’t there ? and 
we made posies of them to put in your hair, now ? ’ And the 
poor old man ran on in a supplicating, suggestive tone, as if 
he could persuade the girl into becoming the person whom he 
sought. 

Ayacanora had watched him, first angry, then amused, then 
attentive, and at last with the most intense earnestness. Sud- 
denly she grew crimson, aYd snatching her hands from the old 
man’s, hid her face in them, and stood. 

‘ Do you remember anything of all this, my child ? ’ asked 
Amyas gently. 

She lifted up her eyes suddenly to his, with a look of implor- 
ing agony, as if beseeching him to spare her. The death of a 
whole old life, the birth of a whole new life, was struggling in 
that beautiful face, choking in that magnificent throat, as she 
threw back her small head, and drew in her breath, and dashed 
her locks back from her temples, as if seeking for fresh air. 
She shuddered, reeled, then fell weeping on the bosom, not of 
Salvation Yeo, but of Amyas Leigh. 

He stood still a minute or two, bearing that fair burden, ere 
he could recollect himself. Then, — 

‘ Ayacanora, you are not yet mistress of yourself, my child. 
You were better to go down, and see after poor Lucy, and we 
will talk about it all to-morrow.’ 

She gathered herself up instantly, and with eyes fixed on the 
deck, slid through the group, and disappeared below. 

‘Ahl’ said YeOj with a tone of exquisite sadness, ‘The 


FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN. 


495 


young to the young ! Over land and sea, in the forests and 
in the galleys, in battle and prison, I have sought her ! And 
now ! — ’ 

‘ My good friend,’ said Amyas, ‘ neither are you master of 
yourself yet. When she comes round again, whom will she 
love and thank but you ? ’ 

‘ You, Sir ! She owes all to you ; and so do I. Let me 
go below. Sir. My old wits are shaky. Bless you. Sir, and 
thank you for ever and ever ! ’ 

And Yeo grasped Amyas’s hand, and went down to his cabin, 
from which he did not reappear for many hours. 

From that day Ayacanora was a new creature. The thought 
that she was an Englishwoman ; that she, the wild Indian, was 
really one of the great white people whom she had learned to 
worship, carried in it some regenerating change ; she regained 
all her former stateliness, and with it a self-restraint, a tempe- 
rance, a softness which she had never shown before. Her 
dislike to Cary and Jack vanished. Modest and distant as ever, 
she now took delight in learning from them about England and 
English people ; and her knowledge of our customs gained 
much from the somewhat, fantastic behavior which Amyas 
thought good, for reasons of his own, to assume toward her. 
He assigned her a handsome cabin to herself, always addressed 
her as Madam, and told Cary, Brimblecombe, and the whole 
crew, that as she was a lady and a Christian, he expected them 
to behave to her as such. So theje was as much bowing and 
scraping on the poop as if it had been a prince’s court : and 
Ayacanora, though sorely puzzled and chagrined at Amyas’s 
new solemnity, contrived to imitate it pretty well (taking for 
granted that it was the right thing) ; and having tolerable mas- 
ters in the art of manners (for both Amyas and Cary were 
thoroughly well-bred men), profited much in all things except 
in intimacy with Amyas, who had, cunning fellow, hit on this 
parade of good manners as a fresh means of increasing the 
distance between him and her. The crew, of course, though 
they were a little vexed at losing their pet, consoled themselves 
with the thought that she was a ‘ real born lady,’ and Mr. 
Oxenham’s daughter, too ; and there was not a man on board 
who did not prick up his ears for a message if she approached 
him, or one who would not have, I verily believe, jumped over- 
board to do her a pleasure. 

Only Yeo kept sorrowfully apart. He never looked at her, 
spoke to her, met her even, if he could. His dream had van- 
ished. He had found her ! and after all, she did not care for 
him ? Why should she ? 


496 


now SALVATION YEO, &C. 


But it was hard to have hunted a bubble for years, and have 
it break in his hand at last. ‘ Set not your affections on things 
on the earth,’ murmured Yeo to himself, as he pored over his 
Bible, in the vain hope of forgetting his little maid. 

But why did Amyas wish to increase the distance between 
himself and Ayacanora .? Many reasons might be given:* I 
deny none of them. But the main one, fantastic as it may 
seem, was, simply, that while she had discovered herself to be 
an Englishwoman, he had discovered her to be a Spaniard. 
If her father were seven times John Oxenham (and even that 
the perverse fellow was inclined to doubt), her mother was a 
Spaniard — Pah ! one of the accursed race ; kinswoman, — 
perhaps, to his brother’s murderers! His jaundiced eyes could 
see nothing but the Spanish element in her; or, indeed, in 
anything else. As Cary said to him once, using a cant phrase 
of Sidney’s which he had picked up from Frank, all heaven 
and earth were ‘ spaniolated ’ to him. He seemed to recollect 
nothing but that Heaven had ‘ made Spaniards to be killed, and 
him to kill them.’ If he had not been the most sensible of John 
Bulls, he would certainly have forestalled the monomania of 
that young Frenchman of rank, who, some eighty years after 
him, so maddened his brain by reading of the Spanish cruel- 
ties, that he threw up all his prospects, and turned captain of 
Flibustiers in the W-est Indies, for the express purpose of rid- 
ding them of their tyrants ; and when a Spanish ship was taken, 
used to relinquish the whole booty to his crew, and reserve 
for himself only the pleasure of witnessing his victims’ dying 
agonies. 

But what had become of that bird-like song of Ayacanora’s, 
which had astonished them on the banks of the Meta, and 
cheered them many a time in their anxious voyage down the 
Magdalena ? From the moment that she found out her English 
parentage, it slopped. She refused utterly to sing anything but 
the songs and psalms which she picked up from the English. 
Whether it was that she despised it as a relic of her barbarism, 
or whether it was too maddening for one whose heart grew 
heavier and humbler day by day, the nightingale notes were 
heard no more. 

So homeward they ran, before a favoring south-west breeze : - 
but long ere they were within sight of' land, Lucy Passmore 
was gone to her rest beneath the Atlantic waves. 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME, 


-.497 


I 

■I 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

I, 

HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME. 

‘ It fell about the Martinmas, 

When nights were lang and mirk. 

That wife’s twa sons cam hame again, 

And their hats were o’ the birk. 

‘ It did na graw by bush or brae. 

Nor yet in ony sheugh ; 

But by the gates o’ paradise 
That birk grew fair eneugh.’ 

The Wife of Usher^s Well. 

i! It is the evening of the 15th of February, 1587, and Mrs. 
i Leigh (for we must return now to old scenes and old faces) is 
■pacing slowly up and down the terrace-walk at Burrough, 
i looking out over the winding river and the hazy sand-hills, and 
Uhe wide western sea, as she had done every evening, be it fair 
( Weather or foul, for three weary years. Three years and more 
I are past and gone, and yet no news of Frank and Amyas, and 
I the gallant ship and all the gallant souls therein; and loving 
feyes in Bideford and Appledore, Clovelly and Ilfracombe, have 
I grown hollow with watching and with weeping for those who 
have sailed away into the West, as John Oxenham sailed before 
|;them, and have vanished like a dream, as he did into the in- 
finite unknown. Three weary years, and yet no word. Once 
there was a flush of hope, and good Sir Richard (without Mrs. 
ILeigh’s knowledge) had sent a horseman posting across to 
(Plymouth, when the news arrived that Drake, Frobisher, .and 
j Carlisle had returned with their squadron from the Spanish 
(Main. Alas! he brought back great- news, glorious news; 

I news of the sacking of Carthagena, San Domingo, Saint 
S Augustine : of the relief of Raleigh’s Virginian Colony : but 
■no news of the Rose, and of those who had sailed in her. And 
Mrs. Leigh bowed her head, and worshipped, and said, ‘The 
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the 
tname of the Lord ! ’ 

1, 42* 



498 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


Her hair was now grown gray ; her cheeks were wan ; her 
step was feeble. She seldom went from home, save to the 
church, and to the neighboring cottages. She never mentioned 
her sons’ names ; never allowed a word to pass her lips, which 
might betoken that she thought of them : but every day, when 
the tide was high, and the red flag on the sand-hills showed that 
there was water over the bar, she paced that terrace-walk, and 
devoured with greedy eyes the sea beyond, in search of the sail 
which never came. The stately ships went in and out as of 
yore ; and white sails hung off the bar for many an hour, day 
after day, month after month, year after year; but an instinct 
within told her that none of them were the sails she sought. 
She knew that ship, every line of her, the cut of every cloth ; 
she could have picked it out miles away, among a whole fleet : 
but it never came, and Mrs Leigh bowed her head and wor- 
shipped, and went to and fro among the poor, who looked on 
her as an awful being, and one whom God had brought very 
near to Himself, in that mysterious heaven of sorrow which 
they too knew full well. And lone women and bed-ridden men 
looked in her steadfast eyes, and loved them, and drank in 
strength from them ; for they knew (though she never spoke of 
her own grief) that she had gone down into the fiercest depths 
of the fiery furnace, and was walking there unhurt by the side 
of One whose form was as of the Son of God. And all the 
while she was blaming herself for her ‘ earthly ’ longings, and 
confessing nightly to Heaven that weakness which she could 
not shake off, which drew her feet at each high tide to the ter- 
race-walk beneath the row of wind-dipt trees. 

But this evening Northam is in a stir. The pebble ridge is 
thundering far below, as it thundered years ago : but Nonham 
is noisy enough, without the rolling of the surge. The tower 
is rocking with the pealing bells ; the people are all in the 
street shouting and singing round bonfires. They are burning 
the Pope in effigy, drinking to the Queen’s health, and ‘ So 
perish all her enemies ! ’ The hills are red with bonfires in 
every village ; and far away, the bells of Bideford are an- 
swering the bells of Northam, as they answered them seven 
years ago, when Amyas returned from sailing round the world. 
For this day has come the news that Mary Queen of Scots is 
beheaded in Fothei ingay ; and all England, like a dreamer 
who shakes off some iiideous nightmare, has leapt up in one 
tremendous shout of jubilation, as the terror and the danger of 
seventeen anxious years is lifted from its heart for ever. 

Yes, she has gone to answer at a higher tribunal than that of 
the Estates of England, for all the noble English blood which 


THE TIIIED TIME. 


499 


has been poured out for her ; for all the noble English hearts 
whom she has tempted into treachery, rebellion, and murder, 
Elizabeth’s own words have been fulfilled at last, after years 
of long-suffering, — 

‘ The daughter of debate, 

That discord aye doth sow, 

Hath reap’d no gain where former rule 
Hath taught still peace to grow.’ 

And now she can do evil no more. Murder and adultery, 
the heart which knew no forgiveness, the tongue which could 
not speak truth even for its own interest, have past and are 
perhaps atoned for; and her fair face hangs a pitiful dream in 
the memory even of those who knew that either she or England 
must perish. ^ 

‘ Nothing is left of her. 

Now, but pure womanly.’ 

And Mrs. Leigh, Protestant as she is, breathes a prayer that 
the Lord may have mercy on that soul, ‘ as clear as diamond 
and as hard,’ as she said of herself. That last scene, toOj 
before the fatal block — it could not be altogether acting. Mrs. 
Leigh had learned many a priceless lesson in the last seven 
years ; might not Mary Stuart have learned something in seven- 
teen ? And Mrs. Leigh had been a courtier, and knew, as far 
as a chaste Englishwoman could know (which even in those 
coarser days was not very much), of that godless sty of French 
court profligacy in which poor Mary had had her youthful train- 
ing, amid the Medicis, and the Guises, and Cardinal Lorraine ; 
and she shuddered, and sighed to herself — ‘ To whom little is 
given, of them shall little be required ! ’ But still the bells 
pealed on, and would not cease. 

What was that which answered them from afar out of the 
fast darkening twilight ? A flash, and then the thunder of a 
gun at sea. 

Mrs. Leigh stopped. The flash was right outside the bar. 
A ship in distress it could not be. The wind was light and 
westerly. It was. a high spring-tide, as evening floods are 
always there. What could it b^e Another flash, another 
gun. The noisy folks of Northam were hushed at once, and all 
hurried into the churchyard, which looks down on the broad 
flats and the river. 

There was a gallant ship’ outside the bar. She was running 
in, too, with all sails set. A large ship ; nearly a thousand 
tons she might be : but not of English rig. What was the 


500 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


meaning of it ? A Spanish cruiser about to make reprisals for 
Drake’s raid along the Cadiz shore? Not that, surely. The 
Don had no fancy for such unscientific and dare-devil warfare. 
If he came, he would come with admiral, rear-admiral, and 
vice-admiral, transports and avisos, according to the best ap- 
proved methods, articles and science of war. What could 
she be ? 

Easily, on the flowing tide and fair western wind, she has 
slipped up the channel between the two lines of sand-hill. She 
is almost off Appledore now. She is no enemy ; and if she be 
a foreigner, she is a daring one, for she has never veiled her 
topsails, — and that, all know, every foreign ship must do 
within sight of an English port, or stand the chance of war; 
as the Spanish admiral found, who many a year since was sent 
in time of peace to fetch home from Flanders Anne of Austria, 
Philip the Second’s last wife. 

For in his pride he sailed into Plymouth Sound without veil- 
ing topsails, or lowering the flag of Spain. Whereon, like 
lion from his den, out rushed John Hawkins, the port-admiral, 
in his famous Jesus of Lubec (afterwards lost in the San Juan 
d’Ulloa fight), and without argument or parley, sent a shot 
between the admiral’s masts ; which not producing the desired 
effect, along side ran bold Captain John, and with his next shot, 
so says his son, an eye-witness, ‘ lackt the admiral through and 
through;’ whereon down came the offending flag; and due 
apologies were made, but not accepted for a lor)g time by the 
stout guardian of Her Majesty’s honor. And if John Hawkins 
did as much for a Spanish fleet in time of peace, there is more 
than one old sea-dog in Appledore who will do as much for a 
single ship in time of war, if he can find even an iron pot to 
burn powder withal. 

The strange sail passed out of sight behind the hill of Apple- 
dore ; and then there arose into the quiet evening air a cheer, 
as from a hundred throats. Mrs. Leigh stood still and listened. 
Another gun thundered among the hills; and then another 
cheer. 

It might have been twenty minutes before the vessel hove in 
sight again round the dark rocks of the Hubbastone, as she 
turned up the Bideford river. Mrs. Leigh had stood that whole 
time perfectly motionless, a pale and scarcely breathing statue, 
her eyes fixed upon the Viking’s rock. 

Round the Hubbastone she came at last. There was music 
on board, drums and fifes, shawms and trumpets, which 
wakened ringing echoes from every knoll of wood and slab of 
slate. And as she opened full Northam Tower, and Burrough 


THE THIRD TIME. 


501 


House, another cheer burst from her crew, and rolled up to the 
hills from off the silver waters’ far below, full a mile away. 

Mrs. Leigh walked quickly toward the house, and called her 
maid, — 

‘ Grace, bring me my hood. Master Amyas is come home ! ’ 

‘ No, surely ? O joyful sound ! Praised and blessed be the 
Lord, then ; praised and blessed be the Lord ! But, Madam, 
how ever did you know that ? ’ 

‘ I heard his voice on the river : but I did not hear Master 
Frank’s with him, Grace ! ’ 

‘ Oh be sure. Madam, where the one is the other is. They’d 
never part company. Both come home or neither, PH warrant. 
Plere’s your hood. Madam.’ ^ 

And Mrs. Leigh, with Grace behind her, started with rapid 
steps towards Bideford. 

Was it true .? Was it a dream.? Had the divine instinct 
of the mother enabled her to recognize her child’s voice among 
all the rest, and at that enormous distance : or was her brain 
turning with the long effort of her supernatural calm .? 

Grace asked herself in her own way, that same question 
many a time between Burrough and Bideford. When they 
arrived on the quay the question answered itself. 

As they came down Bridgeland-street (where, afterwards, the 
tobacco warehouses for the Virginia trade used to stand, but 
which then was but a row of ropewalks and sailmakers’ shops), 
they could see the strange ship already at anchor in the river. 
They had just reached the lower end of the street, when round 
the corner swept a great mob, sailors’ women, ’prentices, hur- 

laughing : Mrs. Leigh stopped ; 



'' ‘ Here she is ! ’ shouted some one ; ‘ here’s his mother ! ’ 

jl ‘His mother.? Not their mother!’ said Mrs. Leigh to 
i; herself, and turned very pale: but that heart was long past 
jl breaking. ' ♦ 

Tile next moment, the giant head and shoulders of Amyas, 
far above the crowd, swept round the corner. 

‘ ‘ Make a way ! Make room for Madam Leigh ! ’ And Amyas 

fell on his knees at her feet. 

She threw her arms round his neck, and bent her fair head 
over his, while sailors, ’prentices, and coarse harbor-women 
^ were hushed into holy silence, and made a ring round the 
' mother and the son. 

Mrs. Leigh asked no question. She saw that Amyas was 
, alone. 


502 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


At last he whispered, ‘ I would have died to save him, mother, 
if 1 could.’ 

‘ You need not tell me that, Amyas Leigh, my son.’ 

Another silence. 

‘ How did he die ? ’ whispered Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ He is a martyr. He died in the — ’ 

Amyas could say no more. 

‘ The Inquisition ? ’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

A strong shudder passed through Mrs. Leigh’s frame, and 
then she lifted up her head. 

‘Come home, Amyas. I little expected such an honor — 
such an honor — ha! ha! and such a fair young martyr, too ; 
a very St. Stephen ! God have mercy on me ; and let me not 
go mad before these folk, when I ought to ‘be thanking Thee for 
Thy great mercies ! Amyas, who is that F ’ 

And she pointed to Ayacanora, who stood close behind 
Amyas, watching with keen eyes the whole. 

‘ She is a poor wild Indian girl — my daughter, I call her. I 
will tell you her story hereafter.’ 

‘ Your daughter My grand-daughter, then. Come hither, 
maiden, and be my grand-daughter.’ 

Ayacanora came obedient ; and knelt down, because she had 
seen Amyas kneel. 

‘ God forbid, child ! kneel not to me. Come home, and let 
me know whether I am sane or mazed, alive or dead.’ 

And drawing her hood over her face, she turned to go back, 
holding Amyas tight by one hand, and Ayacanora by the other. 

The crowd let them depart some twenty yards in respectful 
silence, and then burst into a cheer which made the old town 
ring. 

Mrs. Leigh stopped suddenly. 

‘I had forgotten, Amyas. You must not let me stand in the 
way of your duty.* Where are your men ? ’ 

‘ Kissed to death by this time ; all of them, that is, who are 
left ? ’ ‘ 

‘ Left ? ’ 

‘ We went out a hundred, mother, and we come home forty- 
four — if we are at home. Is it a dream, mother ? Is this you .? 
and this old Bridgeland-street again .? As I live, there stands 
Evans, the smith, at his door, tankard in hand, as he did when 
I was a boy ? ’ 

The brawny smith came across the street to them ; but stopped 
when he saw Amyas, but no Frank. 


THE THIRD TIME. 


503 


Better one than neither, Madam!’ said he, trying a rough 
comfort. Amyas shook his hand as he passed him : but Mrs. 
Leigh neither heard nor saw him, nor any one. 

‘ Mother,’ said Amyas, when they were now past the cause- 
way, ‘ we are rich for life.’ 

‘ Yes ; a martyr’s death was the fittest for him.’ 

‘ I have brought home treasure .untold.’ 

‘ What, my boy ’ 

‘ Treasure untold. Cary has promised to see to it to-night.’ 

‘ Very well. I would that he had slept at our house.’ He 
was a kindly lad, and loved Frank. When did he — ’ 

‘ Three years ago, and more. Within two months of our 
sailing.’ 

‘ Ah .? Yes, he told me so.’ 

‘ Told you so 

I ‘ Yes ; the dear lad has often come to see me in my sleep ; 
but you never came. I guessed how it was — as it should be.’ 

‘ But I loved you none the less, mother.’ 

‘ I know that too : but you were lAisy with the men, you 
know, sweet; so your spirit could not come roving home like 
his, which was free. Yes — all as it should be. My maid, 
> and do you not find it cold here in England, after those hot 
regions ? ’ 

‘ Ayacanora’s heart is warm ; she does not think about 
Icold.’ ^ 

■ ‘ Warm ? perhaps you .will warm my heart for me, then.’ 

‘ Would God I could do it, mother ! ’ said Amyas, half 
Teproachfully. 

Mrs. Leigh looked up into his face, and burst into a violent 
flood of tears. 

‘Sinful ! sinful that- 1 am ! ’ 

‘Blessed creature ! ’ cried Amyas ; ‘ if you speak so, I shall 
go mad. Mother, mother, I have been dreading this meeting 
for months. It has been a nightmare hanging over me like a 
horrible black thunder-cloud ; a great cliff miles high, with its 
top hid in the clouds, which I had to climb, and dare not.. I 
have longed to leap overboard, and flee from it like a coward 
into the depths of the sea. The thought that you might ask me 
whether I was not my brother’s keeper — that you might require 
his blood at my hands — and now, now ! when it comes I to find 
you all love, and trust, and patience ! Mother, mother, it’s more 
than I can bear ! ’ and he wept violently. 

Mrs. Leigh knew enough of Amyas to know that any burst 
of this kind, from his quiet nature, betokened some very fearful 


504 


HOW ABIYAS CAME HOME 


struggle ; and the loving creature forgot everything instantly, 
in the one desire to soothe him. 

And soothe him she did ; and home the two went, arm in 
arm together, while Ayacanora held fast, like a child, by the 
skirt of Mrs. Leigh’s cloak. The self-help and daring of the 
forest nymph had given place to the trembling modesty of the 
young girl, suddenly cast on shore in a new world, among 
strange faces, strange hopes, and strange fears also. 

‘ Will your mother love me .? ’ whispered she to Amyas, as 
she went in. 

Yes ; but you must do what she tells you.’ Ayacanora 
pouted. 

‘ She will laugh at me because I am wild.’ 

‘ She never laughs at any one.’ 

‘ Humph ! ’ said Ayacanora. ‘ Well, I shall not be afraid of 
her. I thought she would have been tall, like you ; but she is 
not even as big as me.’ 

This hardly sounded hopeful for the prospect of Ayacanora’s 
obedience : but ere twetity-four hours had passed, Mrs. Leigh 
had won her over utterly ; and she explained her own speech 
by saying that she thought so great a man ought to have a 
great mother. She had expected, poor thing, in her simplicity, 
some awful princess with a frown like Juno’s own, and found 
instead a healing angel. 

Her story was soon told to Mrs. Leigh, who of course, 
woman-like, would not allow a doubt as to her identity. And 
the sweet mother never imprinted a prouder or fonder kiss 
upon her son’s forehead, than that with which she repaid his 
simple declaration, that he had kej)t unspotted, like a gentleman 
and a Christian, the soul which God had put into his charge. 

‘ Tlien you have forgiven me, mother ? ’ 

‘Years ago 1 said in this same room, what should 1 render to 
the Lord for having given me two such sons ? And in this 
room I say it once again. Tell me all about my other son, 
that I may honor him as I honor you.’ 

And then, with the iron nerve which good women have, she 
made him give her every detail of Lucy Passmore’s story, and 
of all which had happened from the day of their sailing to that 
luckless night at Guayra. And when it was done, she led 
Ayacanora out, and began busying herself about the girl’s com- 
forts, as calmly as if Frank and Amyas had been sleeping in 
their cribs in the next room. 

Put she had hardly gone up-stairs when a loud knock at the 
door was followc'd by its opening hastily ; and into the hall 


THE THIRD TIME. 505 

burst, regardless of etiquette, the tall and stately figure of Sir 
Richard Greuvile. 

Amyas dropped on his knees instinctively. The stern war- 
rior was qufte unmanned ; and as he bent over his godson, a 
tear dropped from .that iron cheek, upon the iron cheek of 
Amyas Leigh. 

‘ My lad ! my glorious lad ! and where have you been ? Get 
up, and tell me all. The sailors told me a little, but I must 
hear every word. I knew you would do something grand. I 
told your mother you were too good a workman for God to 
throw away. Now let me have the whole story. Why, I am 
out of breath ! To tell truth, I ran three-parts of the way 
hither.* 

And down the two sat, and Amyas talked long into the night ; 
while Sir Richard, his usual stateliness recovered, smiled stern 
approval at each deed of daring ; and when all was ended, 
answered with something like a sigh, — 

‘ Would God that 1 had been with you every step ! Would 
God, at least, that I could show as good a three years’ log-book, 
Amyas, my lad ! ’ 

‘ You can show a better one, I doubt not.’ 

‘ Humph ! With the exception of one paltry Spanish prize, I 
don’t know that the Queen is the better, or her enemies the 
worse, for me, since we parted last in Dublin city.’ 

‘ You are too modest. Sir.’ 

‘ Would that I were ; but I got on in Ireland, 1 found, no 
better than my neighbors; and so came home again, to find 
that, while I had been wasting my time in that land of misrule, 
Raleigh had done a deed to which I can see no end. For, lad, 
he has found (or rather his two captains, Amadas and Barlow, 
have found for him) between Florida and Newfoundland, a 
country, the like of which, I believe, there is not on the earth 
for climate and fertility. Whether there be gold there, I know 
not, and it matters little ; for there is all else on earth that man 
can want; furs, timber, rivers, game, sugar-canes, corn, fruit, 
and every commodity which France, Spain, or Italy can yield, 
wild in abundance ; the savages civil enough for savages, and, 
in a word, all which goes to the making of as noble a jewel as 
Her Majesty’s crown can wear. The people call it Wingan- 
dacoa ; but we, after Her Majesty, Virginia.’ 

‘ You have been there, then ? ’ 

‘ The year before last, lad ; and left there Ralph Lane, 
Amadas, and some twenty gentlemen, and ninety men, and, 
moreover, some money of my own, and some of old Will 
Salterne’s, which neither of us will ever see again. For the 


506 


HOW AMYAS CA^^IE HOME 


colony, I know not how, quarrelled with the Indians, (I fear I 
too was over sharp with some of them for stealing — if i was, 
God forgive me !) and could not, forsooth, keep themselves 
alive for twelve months ; so that Drake, coming b^ck from his 
last West Indian voyage, after giving them all the help he could, 
had to bring the whole party home. And, if you will believe 
it, the faint-hearted fellows had not been gone a fortnight, 
before I was back again with three ships and all that they could 
want. And never was I more wroth in my life, when all I 
found was the ruins of their huts, which (so rich is the growth 
there) were already full of great melons, and wild deer feeding 
thereon — a pretty sight enough, but not what I wanted just 
then. So back I came ; and being in no over good temper, 
vented my humors on the Portugals at the Azores, and had 
hard fights and small booty. So there the matter stands, but 
not for long; for shame it were if such a paradise, once found 
by Britons, should fall into the hands of any but Her Majesty ; 
and we will try again this spring, if men and money can be 
found. Eh,.lad?’ 

‘ But the prize r ’ 

‘ Ah ! that was no small rnake-weight to our disasters, after 
all. 1 sighted her six days’ sail from the American coast ; but 
ere we could lay her aboard it fell dead calm. Never a boat 
had I on board — they were all lost in a gale of wind — and the 
other ships were becalmed two leagues astern of me. There 
was no use lying there and pounding her till she sunk ; so I 
called the carpenter, got up all the old chests, and with them and 
some spars we floated ourselves alongside, and only just in time. 
For the last of us had hardly scrambled up into the chains, Avhen 
our crazy Noah’s ark went all abroad, and sank at the side, so 
that if we had been minded to run away, Amyas, we could not ; 
whereon, judging valor to be the better part of discretion (as I 
usually do), we fell to with our swords, and had her in five 
minutes, and fifty thousand pounds’ worth in her, which set up 
my purse again, and Raleigh’s too, though I fear it has run out 
again since as fast as it ran in.’ 

And so ended Sir Richard’s story. 

Amyas w'ent the next day to Salterne and told his tale. The 
old man had heard the outlines of it already ; but he calmly 
bade him sit down, and listened to all, his chin upon his hand, 
his elbows on his knees. His cheek never blanclied, his lips 
never quivered throughout. Only when Amyas came to Rose’s 
marriage, he heaved a long breath, as if a weight was taken off 
his heart. 

‘ Say that again, Sir ! ’ 


THE THIRD TIME. 


507 


Amyas said it again, and then went on ; faltering, he hinted 
at the manner of her death. 

‘ Go on, Sir ! Why are you afraid ? There is nothing to be 
ashamed of there, is there ? ’ 

Amyas told the whole with downcast eyes, and then stole a 
look at his hearer’s face. There was no sign of emotion ; only 
somewhat of a proud smile curled the corners of that iron 
mouth. 

‘ And her husband ? ’ asked he, after a pause. 

‘lam ashamed to have to tell you. Sir, that the man still 
lives.’ 

‘ Still lives. Sir ? ’ 

‘ Too true, as far as I know. That it was not' my fault, my 
story bears me witness.’ 

‘Sir, I never doubted your will to kill him. Still lives, you 
say ? Well, so do rats and adders. And now, I suppose, Cap- 
tain Leigh, your worship is minded to recruit yourself on shore 
awhile with the fair lass whom you have brought home (as I 
hear) before having another dash at the devil and his kin ? ’ 

‘Do not mention that young lady’s name with mine. Sir; 
she is no more to me than she is to you ; for she has Spanish 
blood in her veins.’ 

Salterne smiled grimly. 

‘ But 1 am minded, at least, to do one thing, Mr. Salterne, 
and that is, to kill Spaniards, in fair fight, by land and sea, 
wheresoever I shall meet them. And, therefore, I stay not long 
here, whithersoever I may be bound next.’ 

‘ Well, Sir, when you start, come to me for a ship, and the 
best I have is at your service ; and if she do not suit, command 
her to be .fitted as you like best ; and I, William Salterne, will 
pay for all which you shall command to be done.’ 

‘ My good Sir, I have accounts to square with you after a 
very different fashion. As part-adventurer in the Rose, I have 
to deliver to you your share of the treasure which I have 
brought home.’ 

‘ My share. Sir ? If I understood you, my ship was lost off 
the coast of Caraccas, three years agone, and this treasure was 
all won since ? ’ 

‘ True ; but you, as an adventurer in the expedition, have a 
just claim for your share, and will receive it.’ 

‘ Captain Leigh, you are, I see, as your father was before 
you, a just and upright Christian man ; but. Sir, this money is 
none of mine, for it was won in no ship of mine. Hear me. 
Sir ! And if it had been, and that ship ’ — he could not 


508 


HOW AMYAS CAME HOME 


speak her name) — ‘lay safe and sound now by Bideford 
quay, do you think, Sir, that William Salterne is the man to 
make money out of his daughter’s sin and sorrow, and to 
handle the price of blood ? No, Sir ! You went like a gentle- 
man to seek her, and like a gentleman, as all the world knows, 
you have done your best, and I thank you ; but our account 
ends there. The treasure is yours, Sir ; I have enough, and 
more than enough, and none, God help me, to leave it to, but 
greedy and needy kin, who will be rather the worse than the 
better for it. And if I have a claim in law for aught, which 
I know not, neither shall ever ask — why, if you are not too 
proud, accept that claim as a plain burgher’s thank-offering to 
you, Sir, for a great and noble love which you and your brother 
have shown to one who, though 1 say it to my shame, was not 
worthy thereof.’ 

‘ She was worthy of that, and more. Sir. For if she sinned 
like a woman, she died like a saint.’ 

‘ Yes, Sir ! ’ answered the old man with a proud smile ; ‘ she 
had the right English blood in her, I doubt not ; and showed it 
at the last. But now. Sir, no more of this. When you need a 
ship, mine is at your service ; till then, Sir, farewell, and God 
be with you.’ 

And the old man rose, and with an unmoved countenance, 
bowed Amyas to the door. Amyas went back and told Cary, 
bidding him take half of Salterne’s gift ; but Cary swore a 
great oath that he would have none of it. 

‘ Heir of Clovelly, Amyas, and want to rob you ? I who 
have lost nothing, you who have lost a brother ; God forbid 
that I should ever touch a farthing beyond my original share ! ’ 

That evening a messenger from Bideford came running 
breathless up to Burrough Court. The authorities wanted 
Amyas’s immediate attendance, for he was one of the last, it 
seemed, who had seen Mr. Salterne alive. 

Salterne had gone over, as soon as Amyas departed, to an 
old acquaintance ; signed and sealed his will in their presence 
with a firm and cheerful countenance, refusing all condolence ; 
and then gone home, and locked himself into Rose’s room. 
Supper-time came, and he did not appear. The apprentices 
could not make him answer, and at last called in the neighbors, 
and forced the door. Salterne was kneeling by his daughter’s 
bed ; his head was upon the coverlet ; his prayer-book was 
open before him at the burial-service ; his hands were clasped 
in supplication ; but he was dead and cold. 

His will lay by him. He had left all his property among his 
poor relations, saving and excepting all money, &c., due to him 


THE THIRD TIME. 


509 


as owner and part adventurer of the ship Rose, and his new 
bark of three hundred tons burthen, now lying East-lhe-water ; 
all of which was bequeathed to Captain Amyas Leigh, on con- 
dition that he should re-christen that bark the Vengeance, and 
with her sail once more against the Spaniard, before three years 
were past. 

And this was the end of William Salterne, merchant. 


510 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS STOPPED BY THE 
QUEEN’S COMMAND. 

‘ The daughter of debate, 

That discord still doth sow, 

Shall reap no gain where former rule ^ 

Hath taught still peace to grow. 

No foreign banish’d wight 
Shall anker in this port ; 

Our realm it brooks no stranger’s force j 
Let them elsewhere resort.’ 

Qu. Elizabeth. 1569. 

And now Amyas is settled quietly at home again ; and for the 
next twelve months little passes worthy of record in these pages. 
Yeo has installed himself as major domo, with no very definite 
functions, save those of walking about everywhere at Amyas’s 
heels like a lank grey -wolf-hound, and spending his evenings at 
the fire-side, as a true old sailor does, with his Bible on his 
knee, and his hands busy in manufacturing numberless knick- 
knacks, useful or useless, for every member of the family, and 
above all for Ayacanora, whom he insults every week by humbly 
offering some toy only fit for a child ; at which she pouts, and 
is reproved by Mrs. Leigh, and then takes the gift, and puts it 
away never to look at it again. For her whole soul is set upon 
being an English maid ; and she runs about all day long after 
Mrs. Leigh, insisting upon learning the mysteries of the kitchen, 
and the still-room ; and above all, the art of making clothes for 
herself, and at last for everybody in Northam. For, first, she 
will be a good housewife like Mrs. Leigh ; and next, a new idea 
has dawned on her ; that of helping othei^s. To the boundless 
hospitality of the savage she has been of course accustomed ; 
but to give to those who can give nothing in return, is a new 
thought. She sees Mrs. Leigh spending every spare hour in 
working'for the poor, and visiting them in their cottages. She 
sees Amyas, after pub'lic thanks in church for his safe return, 
giving away money, food, what not, in Northam, Appledore, 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’S COMMAND. 511 

and Bideford ; buying cottages and making them alms-houses 
for worn-out mariners ; and she is told that this is his thank- 
offering to God. She is puzzled ; her notion of a thank-offer- 
ing was rather that of the Indians, and indeed of the Spaniards, 
— sacrifices of human victims, and the bedizenment of the 
Great Spirit’s sanctuary with their skulls and bones. Not that 
Amyas, as a plain, old-fashioned Churchman, was unmindful 
of the good old instinctive rule, that something should be 
given to the Church itself ; for the vicar of Northam was 
soon resplendent with a new surplice, and what was more, the 
altar with a splendid flagon and salver of plate (lost I suppose 
in the civil wars) which had been taken in the great galleon. 
Ayacanora could understand that: but the alms-giving she 
could not, till Mrs. Leigh told her, in her simple way, that 
whosoever gave to the poor, gave to the Great Spirit ; for the 
Great Spirit was in them, and in Ayacanora too, if she would 
be quiet and listen to him, instead of pouting and stamping, 
and doing nothing but what she liked. And the poor child took 
in that new thought like a child, and worked her fingers to the 
bone for all the old dames in Northam, and went about with 
Mrs. Leigh, lovely and beloved, and looked now and then out 
from under her long dark eyelashes to see if she was winning 
a smile from Amyas. And on the day on which she won one, 
she was good all day; and on th6 day on which she did not, 
she was thoroughly naughty, and would have worn out the 
patience of any soul less chastened than Mrs. Leigh’s. But as 
for the pomp and glory of her dress, there was no keeping it 
within bounds ; and she swept into church each Sunday bediz- 
ened in Spanish finery, with such a blaze and rustle, that the 
good vicar had to remonstrate humbly with Mrs. Leigh, on the 
disturbance which she caused to the eyes and thoughts of all his 
congregation. To which Ayacanora answered, that she was 
not thinking about them, and they need not think about her ; 
and that if the Piache (in plain English, the conjurer), as she 
supposed, wanted a present, he might have all her Mexican 
feather-dresses; she would not wear them; they were wild 
Indian things, and she was an English maid — but they would 
just do for a Piache : and so darted up stairs, brought them 
down, and insisted so stoutly on arraying the vicar therein, that 
the good man beat a swift retreat. But he carried off with him, 
nevertheless, one of the handsomest mantles, which, instead of 
selling it, he converted cleverly enough into an altar-cloth ; and 
for several years afterwards, the communion at Northam was 
celebrated upon a blaze of emerald, azure, and crimson, which 
hud once adorned the sinful body of some Az;tec prince. 


512 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


So Ayacanora flaunted on; while A myas watched her, half 
amused, half in simple pride of her beauty; and looked round 
at all gazers, as much as to say, ‘ See what a fine bird 1 have 
brought home ! ’ 

Another great trouble which she gave Mrs. Leigh was, her 
conduct to the ladies of the neighborhood. They came, of 
course, one and all, not only to congratulate Mrs. Leigh, but 
to get a peep at the fair savage ; but the iair savage snubbed 
them all round, from the vicar’s wife to Lady Grenvile herself, 
so eflectually, that few attempted a second visit. 

Mrs. Leigh remonstrated, and was answered by floods of 
tears. ‘ They only come to stare at a poor wild Indian girl, 
and she would not be made a show of. She was like a 
queen once, and every one obeyed her; but here every one 
looked down upon her.’ But when Mrs. Leigh asked her, 
whether she would sooner go back to the forests, the poor girl 
clung to her like a baby., and entreated not to be sent away. 

‘ She would sooner be a slave in the kitchen here, than go back 
to the bad people.’ 

And so on, month after month of foolish storm and foolish 
sunshine ; but she was under the shadow of one in whom was 
neither storm nor sunshine, but a perpetual genial calm of soft 
gray weather, which tempered down to its own peacefulness all 
who entered its charmed influence ; and the outbursts grew more 
and more rare, and Ayacanora more and more rational, though 
no more happy, day by day. 

And, one by one, small hints came out, which made her 
identity certain, at ieast in the eyes of Mrs. Leigh and Yeo. 
After she had become familiar with the sight of houses, she 
gave them to understand that she had seen such things before. 
The red cattle, too, seemed not unknown to her ; the sheep 
puzzled her for some time ; and, at last, she gave Mrs. Leigh 
to understand that they were too small. 

‘ Ah, Madam,’ quoth Yeo, who caught at every straw, ‘ it is 
because she has been accustomed to those great camel-sheep 
(llamas they call them) in Peru.’ 

But Ayacanora’s delight was a horse. The use of tame 
animals at all was a daily wonder to her; but that a horse 
could be ridden, was the crowning miracle of all ; and a horse 
she would ride, and, after plaguing Amyas for one in vain (for 
he did not want to break her pretty neck), she proposed confi- 
dentially to Yeo to steal one ; and, foiled in that, went to the 
vicar, and offered to barter all her finery for his broken-kneed 
pony. But the vicar was too honest to drive so good a bargain ; 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 513 

and the matter ended in Amyas buying her a jennet, which she 
learned in a fortnight to ride like a very Guacho. 

And now awoke another curious slumbering reminiscence. 
For one day, at Lady Grenvile’s invitation, the whole family 
went over to Stow ; Mrs. Leigh soberly on a pillion behind the 
groom, Ayacanora cantering round upon the moors like a hound 
let loose, and trying to make Amyas ride races with her. But 
that night, sleeping in the same room with Mrs. Leigh, she 
woke shrieking, and sobbed out a long story, how the ‘ Old Ape 
of Panama,’ her especial abomination, had come to her bedside, 
and dragged her f^orth into the court-yard ; and how she had 
mounted a horse, and ridden with an Indian over great moors 
and high mountains, down into a dark wood ; and there the 
Indian and the horses vanished, and she found herself suddenly 
changed once more into a little savage child. So strong was 
the impression, that she could not be persuaded that the thing 
had not happened ; if not that night, at least some night or 
other. So Mrs. Leigh at last believed the same ; and told the 
company next morning, in her pious way, how the Lord had 
revealed in a vision to the poor child who she was, and how she 
had been exposed in the forests by her jealous stepfather ; and 
neither Sir Richard nor his wife could doubt but that hers was 
the true solution. It was probable that Don Xararte, though his 
home was Panama, had been often at Quito ; for Yeo had seen 
him come on board the Lima ship at Guayaquil, one of the 
nearest ports. This would explain her having been found by 
the Indians beyond Cotopaxi, the nearest peak of the eastern 
Andes ; if, as was but too likely, the old man, believing her to 
be Oxenham’s child, had conceived the fearful vengeance of 
exposing her in the forests. 

Other little facts came to light, one by one. They were all 
connected (as was natural in a savage) with some animal, or 
other natural object. Whatever impressions her morals or 
affections had received, had been erased by the long spiritual 
death of that forest-sojourn; and Mrs. Leigh could not elicit 
from her a trace of feeling about her mother, or recollection of 
any early religious teaching. This link, however, was supplied 
at last ; and in this way. 

Sir Richard had brought home an Indian with him from 
Virginia. Of his original name I am not sure ; but he was 
probably the ‘ Wanchese ’ whose name occurs with that of 
‘ Manteo.’ 

This man was to be baptized in the church at Bideford, by 
the name of Raleigh ; his sponsors being most probably Ra- 


514 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


leigh himself, who may have been there on Virginian business, 
and Sir Richard Grenvile. All the notabilities of Bideford came, 
of course, to see the baptism of the first ‘ red man ’ whose foot 
had ever trodden British soil : and the mayor and corporation 
men appeared in full robes, with maces and tipstaffs, to do 
honor to that first-fruits of the Gospel in the West. - 

Mrs. Leigh went, as a matter of course, and Ayacanora 
would needs go, too." She was very anxious to know what they 
were going to do with the ‘ Carib.’ 

‘ To make him a Christian.’ 

‘ Why did they not make her one > ’ 

Because she w'as one already. They were sure that she had 
been christened as soon as she was born. But she was not 
sure ; and pouted a good deal at the chance of an ‘ ugly red 
Carib ’ being better off than she was. However, all assembled 
duly ; the stately son of the forest, now transformed into a foot- 
man of Sir Richard’s, was standing at the font ; the service 
was half performed, when a heavy sigh, or rather groan, made 
all eyes turn, and Ayacanora sank fainting upon Mrs. Leigh’s 
bosom. 

She was carried out, and to a neighboring house ; and when 
she came to herself, told a strange story. How, as she was 
standing there, trying to recollect whether she, too, had ever 
been baptized, the church seemed to grow larger, the priest’s 
dress richer ; the walls were covered with pictures, and above 
the altar, in jewelled robes, stood a lady, and in her arms a 
babe. Soft music sounded in her ears ; the air was full (on 
that she insisted much) of fragrant odor, which filled the church 
like mist; and through it she saw not one, but many Indians, 
standing by the font ; and a lady held her by the hand, and she 
was a little girl again. 

And after many questionings, so accurate was her recol- 
lection, not only of the scene, but of the building, that Yeo 
pronounced, — 

‘ A christened woman she is, Madam, if Popish christening 
is worth calling such ; and has seen Indians christened, too, in 
the cathedral church at Quito, the inside whereof I know well 
enough, and too well ; for I sat there three mortal hours in a 
San Benito, to hear a friar preach his false doctrines, not know- 
ing whether I was to be burnt or not next day.’ 

So Ayacanora went home to Burrough, and Raleigh, the In- 
dian, to Sir Richard’s house. The entry of his baptism still 
stands, crooked-lettered, in the old parchment register of the 
Bideford baptisms for 1587-88 : — 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 


515 


‘ Raleigh, a Winganditoian : March 26.’ 

His name occurs once more, a year and a month after — 

‘ Rawly, a Winganditoian, April, 1589.’ 

But it is not this time among the baptisms. The free forest 
wanderer has pined in vain for his old deer-hunts amid the fra- 
grant cedar-woods, and lazy paddlings through the still lagoons, 
where water-lilies sleep beneath the shade of great magnolias, 
wreathed with clustered vines ; and now he is away to ‘happier 
hunting-grounds, and all that is left of him helow sleeps in the 
narrow town churchyard, blocked in with dingy houses, whose 
tenants will never waste a sigh upon the Indian’s grave. There 
the two entries stand, unto this day ; and most pathetic they 
have seemed to me ; a sort of emblem and first-fruits of the sad 
fate of that worn-out Red Race, to whom civilization came too 
late to save, but not too late to hasten their decay. 

But though Amyas lay idle, England did not. That spring 
saw another and a larger colony sent out by Raleigh to Vir- 
ginia, under the charge of one John White. Raleigh had 
w'ritten more than once, entreating Amyas to take the com- 
mand, which, if he had done, perhaps the United States had 
begun to exist twenty years sooner than they actually did. But 
his mother had bound him by a solemn promise, (and who can 
wonder at her for asking, or at him for giving it.?) to wait at 
home with her twelve months at least. So, instead of himself, 
he sent five hundred pounds, which, I suppose, are in Virginia 
(virtually at least) until this day ; for they never came back 
again to him. 

But soon came a sharper trial of Amyas’s promise to his ’ 
mother ; and one which made him, for the first time in his life, 
moody, peevish, and restless at the thought that others were 
fighting Spaniards, while he was sitting idle at home. For his 
whole soul was filling fast with sullen malice against Don Guz- 
man. He was losing the ‘ single eye,’ and his whole body was 
no longer full of light. He had entered into the darkness in 
which every man walks who hates his brother; and it lay upon 
him like a black shadow day and night. No company, too, 
could be more fit to darken that shadow, than Salvation Yeo’s. 
The old man grew more stern in his fanaticism day by day, 
and found a too willing listener in his master; and Mrs. Leigh 
was (perhaps for the first and last time in her life) seriously 
angry, when she heard the two coolly debating whether they 
had not committed a grievous sin in not killing the Spanish 
prisoners on board the galleon. 

It must be said, however, (as the plain facts set down in this 
book testify), that if such was the temper of Englishmen at 


616 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


that day, the Spaniards had done a good deal to provoke it ; 
and were just then attempting to do still more. 

For now we are approaching the year 1588, ‘ which an as- 
tronomer of Konigsberg, above a hundred years before, foretold 
would be an admirable year, and the German chronologers pre- 
saged would be the climacterical year of the world.’ 

The prophecies may stand for what they are worth ; but they 
were at least fulfilled. That year was, indeed, the climac- 
terical year of the world ; and decided, once and for all, the 
fortunes of the European nations, and of the whole continent 
of America. 

No wonder, then, if (as has happened in each great crisis of 
the human race) some awful instinctlkat The Day of the Lord 
was at hand, some dim feeling that there was war in heaven, 
and that the fiends of darkness and the angels of light were 
arrayed against each other in some mighty struggle for the pos- 
session of the souls of men, should have tried to express itself 
in astrologic dreams, and, as was the fashion then, attributed to 
the ‘ rulers of the planetary houses ’ some sympathy with the 
coming world-tragedy. 

But, for the wise, there needed no conjunction of planets to 
tell them, that the day was near at hand, when the long desul- 
tory duel between Spain and England would end, once and for 
all, in some great death-grapple. The war, as yet, had been 
confined to the Netherlands, to the West Indies, and the coasts 
and isles of Africa ; to the quarters, in fact, where Spain was 
held either to have no rights, or to have forfeited them by 
tyranny. But Spain itself had been respected by England, as 
England had by Spain ; and trade to Spanish ports went on as 
usual, till, in the year 1585, the Spaniard, without warning, laid 
an embargo on all English ships coming to his European shores. 
They were to be seized, it seemed, to form part of an enor- 
mous armament, which was to attack and crush, once and for 
all — whom ? The rebellious Netherlanders, said the Span- 
iards : but the Queen, the ministry, and, when it was just not 
too late, the people of England, thought otherwise. England 
was the destined victim ; so, instead of negotiating, in order to 
avoid fighting, they fought in order to produce negotiation. 
Drake, Frobisher, and Carlisle, as we have seen, swept the 
Spanish Main with fire and sword, stopping the Indian supplies , 
while Walsingham (craftiest, and yet most honest of mortals), 
prevented, by some mysterious financial operation, the Venetian 
merchants from repairing the Spaniards’ loss by a loan ; and no 
Armada came that year. 

In the meanwhile, the Jesuits, here and abroad, made no 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 517 

secret, among their own dupes, of the real objects of the Spanish 
armament. The impious heretics, — the Drakes and Raleighs, 
Grenviles and Cavendishes, Hawkinses and Frobishers, who had 
dared to violate that hidden sanctuary of just half the globe, 
which the Pope had bestowed on the defender of the true faith, 
— a shameful ruin, a terrible death awaited them, when their 
sacrilegious barks should sink beneath the thunder of Spanish 
cannon, blessed by the Pope, and sanctified with holy water 
and prayer to the service of ‘ God and his Mother.’ Yes, they 
would fall, and England with them. The proud islanders, who 
had dared to rebel against St. Peter, and to cast off the worship 
of ‘ Mary,’ should bow their necks once more under the yoke 
of the Gospel. Their so-called Queen, illegitimate, excommu- 
nicate, contumacious, the abettor of free-trade, the defender of 
the Netherlands, the pillar of false doctrine throughout Europe, 
should be sent in chains across the Alps, to sue for her life at 
the feet of the injured and long-suffering father of mankind, 
while his nominee took her place upon the throne which she 
had long since forfeited by her heresy. 

‘ What nobler work ? How could the Church of God be 
more gloriously propagated ? How could higher merit be ob- 
tained by faithful Catholics ? It must succeed. Spain was 
invincible in valor, inexhaustible in wealth. Fleaven .itself 
offered them an opportunity. They had nothing now to fear 
from the Turk, for they had concluded a truce with him ; 
nothing from the French, for they were embroiled in civil war. 
The heavens themselves had called upon Spain to fulfil her 
heavenly mission, and restore to the Church’s crown this 
brightest and richest of her lost jewels. The heavens them- 
selves called to a new crusade. The saints, whose altars the 
English imd rifled and profaned, called them to a new crusade. 
The Virgin Queen of Heaven, whose boundless stores of grace 
the English spurned, called them to a new crusade. Justly 
incensed at her own wrongs and indignities, that “ ever-gracious 
Virgin, refuge of sinners, and mother of fair love, and holy 
hope,” adjured by their knightly honor all valiant cavaliers to 
do battle in her cause against the impious harlot who assumed 
her titles, received from her idolatrous flatterers the homage 
due to Mary alone, and even (for Father Parsons had asserted 
it, therefore it must be true) had caused her name to be sub- 
stituted for that of Mary in Litanies of the Church. Let all 
who wore within a manly heart, without a manly sword, look 
on the woes of “ Mary,” — her shame, her tears, her blushes, her 
heart pierced through with daily wounds, from heretic tongues, 
and choose between her and Elizabeth !’ 

44 


518 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


So said Parsons, Allen, and dozens more ; and said more 
than this, too, and much which one had rather not repeat ; and 
were somewhat surprised and mortified to find, that their hear- 
ers, thougfi they granted the premises, were too dull or carnal 
to arrive at the same conclusion. The English lay Romanists, 
almost to a man, had* hearts sounder than their heads, and, 
howsoever illogically, could not help holding to the strange 
superstition that, being Englishmen, they were bound to fight 
for England. So the hapless Jesuits, who had been boasting 
for years past that the persecuted faithful throughout the island 
would rise as one man to fight under the blessed banner of the 
Pope and Spain, found that the faithful, like Demas of old, 
forsook them, and ‘ went after this present world ; ’ having no 
objection, of course, to the restoration of Popery: but prefer- 
ring some more comfortable method than an invasion which 
would inevitably rob them of their ancestral lands, and would 
seat needy and greedy Castilians in their old country houses, 
to treat their tenants as they had treated the Indians of His- 
paniola, and them as they had treated the Caciques. 

But though the hearts of men, in that ungodly age, were too 
hard to melt at the supposed woes of the Mary who reigned 
above, and too dull to turn rebels and traitors for the sake of 
those thrones and principalities in supralunar spheres which 
miglit be in her gift : yet there was a Mary who reigned (or 
ought to reign) below, whose woes (like her gifts) were some- 
what more palpable to the carnal sense. A Mary who, having 
every comfort and luxury (including hounds and horses), found 
for her by the English Government, at an expense which would 
be now equal to some twenty thousand a year, could afford to 
employ the whole of her jointure as Queen Dowager of France 
(probably equal to fifty thousand a year more), in plotting the 
destruction of the said Goyernment, and the murder of its. 
Queen ; a Mary who, if she prospered as she ought, might 
have dukedoms and earldoms, fair lands and castles to bestow 
on her faithful servants ; a Mary, finally, who contrived by 
means of an angel face, a serpent tongue, and a heart (as she 
said herself) as hard as a diamond, to make every weak man 
fall in love with her, and, what was worse, fancy more or less 
tliat she was in love with him. 

Of her the Jesuits were not unmindful ; and found it conve- 
nient, indeed, to forget awhile the sorrows of the Queen of 
Heaven in those of the Queen of Scots. Not that they cared 
much for those sorrows ; but they were an excellent stock-in- 
trade. She was a Romanist ; she w'as ‘ beautiful and unfortu- 
nate,’ a virtue which, like charity, hides the multitude of sins ; 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 


519 


and, therefore, she was a convenient card to play in the great 
game of Rome against the Queen and people of England ; and 
played the poor card was, till it got torn up by over-using. Into 
her merits or demerits I do not enter deeply here. Let her 
rest in peace. 

To all which the people of England made a most practical 
and terrible answer. From the highest noble to the lowest 
peasant, arose one simultaneous plehiscitum : ‘ We are tired 
of these seventeen years of chicanery and terror. This woman 
must die: or the commonweal of England perish!’ We all 
know which of the two alternatives was chosen. 

All Europe stood aghast : but rather with astonishment at 
English audacity, than with horror at English wickedness. 
Mary’s own French kinsfolk had openly given her up as too 
bad to be excused, much less assisted. Her own son blustered 
a little to the English ambassador ; fox the majesty of king’s 
was invaded : whereon VValsingham said in open council, that 
‘ the Queen should send him a couple of hounds, and that 
would set all right.’ Which sage advice (being acted on, and 
some deer sent over and above), was so successful that the 
pious mourner, having run off (Randolph says, like a baby to 
see the deer in their cart), returned for answer, that he would 
‘ Thereafter depend wholly upon her Majesty, and serve her 
fortune against all the world ; and, that he only wanted now 
two of her Majesty’s yeomen prickers, and a couple of her 
grooms of the deer.’ The Spaniard was not sorry, on the whole, 
for the catastrophe ; for all that had kept him from conquering 
England long ago, was the fear lest, after it was done, he 
might have had to put the crown thereof on Mary’s head, 
instead of his own. But Mary’s death was as convenient a 
stalking-horse to him, as to the Pope ; and now the Armada 
was coming in earnest. 

Elizabeth began negotiating but fancy not that she does 
nothing more, as the following letter testifies, written about mid- 
summer, 1587 : — 

‘ F. Drake to Captain Amy as Leigh. This with haste. 

‘ Dear Lad, 

‘ As I said to her most gracious Majesty, I say to you 
now. There are two ways of facing an enemy. The one to 
stand off, and cry, “ Try that again, and I’ll strike thee.” The 
other to strike him first, and then, “ Try that at all, and I’ll 
strike thee again.” Of which latter counsel Her Majesty so far 


520 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WaS 


approves, that I go forthwith (tell it not in Gath) down the 
coast, to singe the king of Spain’s beard (so I termed it to Her 
Majesty, she laughing), in which if I leave so much as a fishhig- 
boat afloat from the Groyne unto Cadiz, it will not be with 
my good will, who intend that if he come this year, he shall 
come by swimming and not by sailing. So if you are still the 
man I have known* you, bring a good ship round to Plymouth 
within the month, and away with me for hard blows and hard 
money, the feel of both of which you know pretty well by 
now. 

‘ Thine, lovingly, 

‘ F. Drake.’ 

Am3ms clutched his locks over this letter, and smoked more 
tobacco the day he got it than had ever before been consumed 
at once in England. But he kept true to his promise ; and this 
was his reply : — 


‘ Amy as Leigh to the Worslii/pful Sir F. Drake, Admiral 
of Her Majesty"' s Fleet in Plymouth. 

' ‘ Most honored Sir, — 

‘ A magician keeps me here, in bilboes, for which you 
have no picklock ; namely, a mother who forbids. The loss 
is mine : but Antichrist I can fight any year (for he will not die 
this bout, nor the next), while my mother — but I will not 
trouble your patience more than to ask from you to get me 
news, if you can, from any prisoners, of one Don Guzman 
Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto ; whether he is in Spain 
or in the Indies ; and what the villain does, and where he is to 
be found. This only I entreat of you, and so remain behind 
with a heavy heart. 

‘ Yours to command in all else, and I would 
to Heaven, in this also, 

‘ Amyas Leigh.’ 

I am sorry to have to say, that after having thus obeyed his 
mother, Master Amyas, as men are too apt to do, revenged 
himself on her by being more and more cross and disagreeable. 
But his temper amended much, when, a few months after, 
Drake returned triumphant, having destroyed a hundred sail in 
Cadiz alone, taking three great galleons with immense wealth 
on board, burnt the small craft all along the shore, and offered 
battle to Santa Cruz at the mouth of the Tagus. After which 


STOPPED by' the queen’s COMMAND. 


521 


it is unnecessary to say, that the Armada was put off for yet 
another year. 

This news, indeed,, gave A my as little comfort; for he merely 
observed, grumbling, that Drake had gone and spoiled every 
body else’s sport ; but what cheered him was news from Drake 
that Don Guzman had been heard of from the captain of one 
of the galleons ; that he was high in favor in Spain, and com- 
mandant of soldiers on board one of the largest of the Marquis’s 
ships. 

And when Amyas heard that, a terrible joy took possession 
of him. When the Armada came, as come it would, he should 
meet his enemy at last ! He could wait now patiently ; if — 
and he shuddered at himself, as he found himself in the very 
act of breathing ar prayer that Don Guzman might not die before 
that meeting. 

In the meanwhile, rumor flew thousand-tongued through the 
length and breadth of the land ; of vast preparations going on 
in Spain and Italy ; of timber felled long before for some such 
purpose, brought clown to the sea, and sawn out for ship- 
building; of casting of cannon, and drilling of soldiers: of ships 
in hundreds collecting at Lisbon ; of a crusade preached by 
Pope Sixtus the Fifth, who had bestowed the kingdom of Eng- 
land on the Spaniard, to be enjoyed by him as vassal tributary 
to Rome ; of a million of gold to be paid by the Pope, one-half 
down at once, the other half when London was taken ;.of Car- 
dinal Allen writing and printing busily in the Netherlands, 
calling on all good Englishmen to carry out, by rebelling 
against Elizabeth, the Bull of Sixtus the Fifih, said (I blush to 
repeat it) to have been dictated by the Holy Ghost; of In- 
quisitors getting ready fetters and devil’s engines of all sorts ; 
of princes and noblemen flocking from all quarters, gentlemen 
selling their private estates to fit out ships ; how the Prince of 
Melito, the Marquess of Burgrave, Vespasian Gonzaga, John 
Medicis, Amadas of Savoy, in short, the illegitimate sons of all 
the southern princes, having no lands of their own, were coming 
to find that necessary (ff life in this pleasant little wheat-garden. 
Nay, the Duke of Medina Sidonia had already engaged Mount- 
Edgecombe for himself, as the fiiirest jewel of the south ; which, 
when good old Sir Richard Edgecombe heard, he observed 
quietly, that in 1555 he had the pleasure of receiving at his 
table at one time the Admirals of England, Spain, and the 
Netherlands, and therefore had experience in entertaining Dons ; 
and made preparations for the visit by filling his cellars with 
gunpowder, with a view to a house-warming and feu-de-joie on 
the occasion. But, as old Fuller says, ‘ The bear was not yet 
44* 


522 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


killed, and Medina Sidonia might have catched a great cold, 
had he no other clothes to wear than the skin thereof.’ 

So flew rumor, false and true, till poor John Bull’s wits were 
well nigh turned ; but to the very last, after his lazy fashion, 
he persuaded himself that it would all come right somehow ; 
that it was too great news to be true ; that if it was true, the 
expedition was only meant for the Netherlands; and, in short, 
sat quietly over his beef and beer for many a day after the 
French king had sent him fair warning, and the Queen, the 
ministry, and the admirals, had been assuring him again and 
again, that he, and not the Dutchman, was the destined prey of 
this great flight of ravenous birds. 

At last the Spaniard, in order that there should be no mistake 
about the matter, kindly printed a complete bill of the play, to 
be seen still in Van Meteran, for the comfort of all true Catlio- 
lics, and confusion of all pestilent heretics ; which document, of 
course, the seminary priests used to enforce the duty of helping 
the invaders, and the certainty of their success ; and from their 
hands it soon passed into those of the devout ladies, who were 
not very likely to keep it to themselves ; till John Bull himself 
found his daughters buzzing over it with very pale faces (as 
young ladies well might, who had no wish to follow the fate of 
the dam.sels of Antwerp), and condescending to run his eye 
through it, discovered, what all the rest of Europe had known 
for months past, that he was in a very great scrape. 

Well it was for England, then, that her Tudor sovereigns 
had compelled every man (though they kept up no standing 
army) to be a trained soldier. Well it was- that Elizabeth, 
even in those dangerous days of intrigue and rebellion, had 
trusted her people enough, not only to leave them their weapons, 
but (what we, forsooth, in these more ‘ free’ and ‘liberal’ days 
dare not do) to teach them how to use them. Well it was, that, 
by careful legislation for the comfort and employment of ‘ the 
masses,’ (term then, thank God, unknown), she had both won 
their hearts, and kept their bodies in fighting order. Well it 
was, that, acting as fully as Napoleon did on ‘ Ja carriere ouverlc 
aux talens,^ she had raised to the highest posts in her councils, 
her army, and her navy, men of business, who had not been 
ashamed to buy and sell as merchants and adventurers. Well 
for England, in a word, that Elizabeth had pursued for thirty 
years a very different course to that which we have been 
pursuing for the last thirty, with one exception, namely, the 
leaving as much as possible to private enterprise. 

There we have copied her ; would to Heaven that we had in 
some other matters ! It is the fashion now to call her a despot ; 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEn’s COMMAND. 523 

but unless every monarch is to be branded with that epithet whose 
power is not as circumscribed as Queen Victoria’s is now, we 
ought rather to call her the most popular sovereign, obeyed of 
their own free will by the freest subjects which England has 
ever seen ; confess the Armada fight to have been as great a 
moral triumph as it was a political one ; and (now that our late 
boasting is a little silenced by Crimean disasters) inquire whe- 
ther we have not something to learn from those old Tudor times, 
as to how to choose officials, how to train a people, and how to 
defend a country. • 

To return to the thread of my story. 

January 1587-88 had w'ell nigh run through, before Sir Rich- 
ard Grenvile made his appearance on the streets of Bideford. 
He had been appointed, -in November, one of the council of war 
for providing for the safety of the nation, and the West Country 
had seen nothing of him since. But one morning, just before 
Christmas, his stately figure darkened the old bay-window at 
Burrough, and Amyas rushed out to meet him, and bring him 
in, and ask what news from court. 

‘ All good news, dear lad, and dearer Madam. The Queen 
shows the spirit of a very Boadicea or Serairamis ; ay, a very 
Scythian Tomyris, and if she had the Spaniard before her 
now, would verily, for ought I know, feast him as the Scythian 
queen did Cyrus, with a “ Satia te sanguine, quod sitisti.” ’ 

‘ I trust her most merciful spirit is not so changed already,’ 
said Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ Well, if she would not do it, I would, and ask pardon after- 
wards, as Raleigh did about the rascals at Smerwick, whom 
Amyas knows of. Mrs. Leigh, these are times in which mercy 
is cruelty. Not England alone, but the world, the Bible, the 
Gospel itself, is at stake; and we must do terrible things, lest 
we suffer more terrible ones.’ 

‘ God will take care of world and Bible better than any 
cruelty of ours, dear Sir Richard.’ 

‘ Nay, but Mrs. Leigh, we must help Him to take care of 
them ! If those Smerwick Spaniards had not been — ’ 

‘ The Spaniard would not have been exasperated into invad- 
ing us.’ 

‘ And we should not have had this chance of crushing him 
once and for all ; but the quarrel is of older standing. Madam, 
eh, Amyas ? Amyas, has Raleigh wriuen to you of late ? ’ 

‘ Not a word, and 1 wonder why.’ 

‘ Well ; no wonder at that, if you knew how he has been 
laboring. The wonder is, whence he got the knowledge where- 
with to labor ; for he never saw seawork, to my remembrance.’ 


624 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


‘ Never saw a shot fired by sea, except ours at Smerwick, 
and that brush with the Spaniards in 1579, when he sailed for 
Virginia with Sir Humphrey ; and he was a mere crack then.’ 

‘ So you consider him as your pupil, eh? But he learned 
enough in the Netherland wars, and in Ireland too, if not of the 
strength of ships, yet still of the weakness of land forces ; and 
would you believe it, the man has twisted the whole council 
round his finger, and made them give up the land defences to 
the naval ones.’ 

‘ Quite right he, and wooden walls ag«inst stone ones for 
ever ! But as for twisting, he would persuade Satan, if he got 
him alone for half an hour.’ 

‘ I wish he would sail for’ Spain then, just now, and try the 
powers of his tongue,’ said Mrs. Leigh.. 

' ‘ But are we to have the honor, really ? ’ 

‘ We are, lad. There were many in the council who were 
for disputing the landing on shore, and said * — which I do not 
deny — that the ’prentice boys of London could face the bluest 
blood in Spain. ‘ But Raleigh argued (following my Lord Bur- 
leigh in that), that we differed from the Low Countries, and all 
other lands, in that we had not a castle or town throughout, 
which would stand a ten days’ siege, and that our ramparts, as 
he well said, were, after all, only a body of men. So, he argued, 
as long as the enemy has power to land where he will, preven- 
tion, rather than cure, is our only hope ; and that belongs to the 
office, not of an army, but of a ffeet. So the ffeet was agreed 
on, and a fleet we shall have.’ 

‘ Then here is his health, the health of a true friend to all 
bold mariners, and myself in particular ! But where is he 
now ? ’ 

‘Coming here to-morrow, as I hope — for he left London 
with me, and so down by us into Cornwall, to drill the train 
bands, as he is bound to do, being Seneschal of the Duchies, 
and Lieutenant General of the county.’ 

‘ Besides Lord Warden of the Stannaries ! How the man 
thrives ! ’ said Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ How the man deserves to thrive ! ’ said Amyas : ‘ but what 
are we to do ? ’ 

‘ That is the rub. I would fain stay and fight the Spaniards.’ 

‘ So would I ; and will.’ 

‘ But he has other plans in his head for us.’ 

‘ We can make our own plans without his help.’ 

‘ Heyday, Amyas ! How long ? When did he ask you to 
do a thing yet, and you refuse him ? ’ 

‘ Not often, certainly : but Spaniards ! must fight,’ 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEn’s COMMAND. 525 

‘ Well, so must I, boy ; but I have given a sort of promise 
to bim, nevertheless.’ 

‘ Not for me too, I hope ? ’ 

‘ No : he will extract that himself when he comes ; you must 
come and sup to-morrow, and talk it over.’ 

‘ Be talked over, rather. What chestnut does the cat want us 
monkeys to pull out of the fire for him now, I wonder?’ ‘ 

‘ Sir Richard Grenvile is hardly accustomed to be called a 
monkey,’ said Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ I meant no harm ; and his worship knows it, none better : 
but where is Raleigh going to send us, with a murrain ? ’ 

‘ To Virginia. The settlers must have help ; and, as I trust 
in God, we shall be back again long before this armament can 
bestir itself.’ 

So Raleigh came, saw, and conquered. Mrs. Leigh con- 
sented to Amyas’s going (for his twelvemonth would be over 
ere the fleet could start) upon so peaceful and useful an errand ; 
and the next five months were spent in continual labor on the 
part of Amyas and Grenvile, till seven ships were all but ready 
in Bideford River, the admiral whereof was Amyas Leigh. 

But that •fleet was not destined ever to see the shores of the 
New World ; it had nobler work to do (if Americans will for- 
give the speech) than even settling the United States. 

It was in the long June 'evenings, in the year 1588 ; Mrs. 
Leigh sat in the open window, busy at her needle-work ; Aya- 
canora sat opposite to her, on the seat of the bay, trying 
diligently to read ‘The History of the Nine Worthies,’ and 
stealing a glance every now and then toward the garden, where 
Amyas stalked up and down as he had used to do in happier 
days gone by. But his brow was contracted now, his eyes 
fixed on the ground, as he plodded backwards and forwards, 
his hands behind his back, and a huge cigar in his mouth, the 
wonder of the little boys of Northam, who peeped in stealthily as 
they passed the iron-work gates, to see the back of the famous 
fire-breathing captain who had sailed round the world and been 
in the country of headless men and flying dragons, and then pop- 
ped back their heads suddenly, as he turned them in his walk. 
And Ayacanora looked, and looked, with no less admiration 
than the urchins at the gate : but she got no more of an answer- 
ing look from Amyas than they did ; for his head was full of 
calculations of tonnage and stowage, of salt pork and ale-bar- 
rels, and the packing of tools and seeds ; for he had promised 
Raleigh to do his best for the new colony, and he was doing it 
with all his might ; so Ayacanora looked back again to her 


526 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


book, and heaved a deep sigh. ‘It was answered by one from 
Mrs. Leigh. 

‘ We are a melancholy pair, sweet chuck,’ said the fair 
widow. ‘ What is my maid sighing about, there ? ’ 

‘ Because I cannot make out the long words,’ said Ayaca- 
nora, telling a very white fib. 

‘ Is that all Come to me, and I will tell you.’ 

Ayacanora moved over to her, and sat down at her feet. 

‘ H — e, he, r — o, ro, i — c — a — 1, heroical,’ said Mrs. 
Leigh. 

‘ But what does that mean ? ’ 

‘ Grand, and good, and brave, like — ’ 

Mrs. Leigh was about to have said the name of one who was 
lost to heron earth. His fair angelic face hung opposite upon 
the -wall. She paused, unable to pronounce his name;- and 
lifted up her eyes, and gazed on the portrait, and breathed a 
prayer between closed lips, and drooped her head again. 

Her pupil caught at the pause, and filled it up for herself — 

‘Like him.?’ and she turned her head quickly toward the 
window. 

‘-Yes, like him, too,’ said Mrs. Leigh, with a Imlf-smile at 
the gesture. ‘ Now, mind your book. Maidens must not look 
out of the window in school-hours.’ 

‘ Shall 1 ever be an English girl .? ’ asked Ayacanora. 

‘You are one now, sweet ; your father was an English gen- 
tleman. 

Amyas looked in, and saw the two sitting together. 

‘ You seem quite merry there,’ said he. 

‘ Come in, then, and be merry with us.’ 

He entered, and sat down ; while Ayacanora fixed her eyes 
most steadfastly on her book. 

‘ Well, how goes on the reading.? ’ said he ; and then, with- 
out waiting for an answer — ‘ We shall be ready to clear out this 
day week, mother, I do believe ; that is, if the hatchets are made 
in time to pack them.’ 

‘ I hope they will be better than the last,’ said Mrs. Leigh. 
‘It seems to me a shameful sin, to palm off on poor ignorant 
sav'ages goods which we should consider worthless for our- 
selves.’ 

‘ Well, it’s not over fair ; but still, they are a sight better than 
they ever had before. An old hoop is better than a deer’s bone, 
as'Ayacanora knows, — eh .? ’ 

‘ I don’t know anything about it,’ said she, who was always 
nettled at .the least allusion to her past wild life. ‘ I am an En- 
glish girl now, and all that is gone — I forget it.’ 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 


527 


‘ Forget it ? ’ said he, teasing her, for want of something 
better to do. ‘ Should not you like to sail with us, now, and 
see the Indians in the forests once again ? ’ 

‘ Sail with you ? ’ and she looked up eagerly. 

‘ There ! I knew it ! She would not be four-and-twenty 
hours ashore, but she would be off into the woods again, bow 
in hand, like any runaway nymph, and we ’should never see 
her more.’ 

‘ It is false, bad man ! ’ and she burst into violent tears, and 
hid her face in Mrs. Leigh’s lap. 

‘ Amyas, Amyas, why do you tease the poor fatherless 
thing ? ’ 

‘ 1 was only jesting, I’m sure,’ said Amyas, like a repentant 
school-boy. ‘Don’t cry now, don’t cry, my child, see here,’ 
and he begun fumbling in his pockets ; ‘ see what I bought of a 
chapman in town to-day, for you, my maid, indeed I did.’ 

And out he pulled some smart kerchief or other, which had 
taken his sailor’s fancy. 

‘ Look at it now, blue, and crimson,- and green, like any 
parrot ! ’ and he held it out. 

She looked round sharply, snatched it out of his hand, and 
tore it to shreds. 

‘ I hate it, and I hate you ! ’ and she sprang up and darted out 
of the room. 

‘ Oh, boy, boy ! ’ said Mrs. Leigh, ‘ will you kill that poor 
child ? It matters little for an old heart like mine, which has 
but one or two chords left whole, how soon it be broken alto- 
gether ; but a young heart is one of God’s precious treasures, 
Amyas, and suffers many a long pang in the breaking ; and 
woe to them who despise Christ’s little ones ! ’ 

‘ Break your heart, mother ? ’ 

‘ Never mind my heart, dear son ; yet how can you break it 
more surely, than by tormenting one whom I love, because she 
loves you ? ’ 

‘ Tut ! play, mother, and maids’ tempers. But how can I 
break your heart? What have 1 done ? Have I not given up 
going again to the West Indies for your sake ? Have I hot 
given up going to Virginia, and* now again settled to go, after 
all, just because you commanded? VVas it not your will? 
Have I not obeyed you, mother, mother? I will stay at homo, 
now, if you will. 1 would rather rust here on land, 1 vow I 
would, than grieve you — ’ and he threw himself at his moth- 
er’s knees. 

‘ Have I asked you not tp go to Virginia ? No, dear boy, 


528 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


though every thought of a fresh parting seems to crack some 
new fibre within me, you must go! It is your calling. Yes; 
you were not sent into the world to amuse me, but to work. I 
have had pleasure enough of you, my darling, for many a year, 
and too much, perhaps ; till I shrank from lending you to the 

Lord : but He must have you It is enough for the poor 

old widow to know that her boy is what he is, and to forget all 
her anguish day by day, for joy that a man is born into the 
world. But Amyas, Amyas, are you so blind as not to see that 
Ayacanora — ’ 

‘ Don’t talk about her, poor child. Talk about yourself.’ 

‘ How long have I been worth talking about ? No, Amyas, 
you must see it ; and if you will not see it now, you will see 
it one day in some sad and fearful tragedy ; for she is not one 
to die tamely. She loves you, Amyas, as a woman only can 
love.’ 

‘ Loves me ? Well, of course. I found her and brought 
her home : and I don’t deny that she may think that she owes 
me somewhat — though it was no more than a Christian man’s 
duty. But as for her caring much for me, mother, you meas- 
ure every one’s else tenderness by your own.’ 

‘ Think that she owes you somewhat Silly boy, this is not 
gratitude, but a deeper affection, which may be more heavenly 
than gratitude, as it may, too, become a horrible cause of ruin. 
It rests with you, Amyas, which of the two it will be.’ 

‘ You are in earnest ? ’ 

‘ Have I the heart or the time to jest ? ’ 

‘ No, no, of course not ; but, mother, I thought it was not 
comely for women to fall in love with men ?’ 

‘ Not comely, at least, to confess their love to men. But she 
has never done that, Amyas ; not even by a look or a tone of 
voice, thouQ-h I have watched her for months.’ 

‘ To be sure she is as demure as any cat when 1 am in the 
way. I only wonder how you found it out.’ 

‘ Ah, said she, smiling sadly, ‘ even in the saddest woman’s 
soul there linger snatches of old music, odors of flowers long 
dead and turned to dust, — pleasant ghosts., which still keep 
her mind attuned to that which may be in others, though in her 
never more ; till she can hear her own wedding hymn re- 
echoed in the tones of every girl who loves, and sees her own 
wedding torch relighted in the eyes of every bride.’ 

‘ You would not have me marry her.? asked blunt practical 
Amyas. 

‘God knows what I would have, — I know not ; I see neither 


52d 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 

your path nor my own, — no, not after weeks and months of 
prayer. All things beyond are wrapped in mist; and what will 
be, 1 know not, save that whatever else is wrong, mercy at least 
is right.’ 

‘ I’d sail to-morrow, if I could. As for marrying her, mother 
— her birth, mind me — ’ 

‘ Ah, boy, boy ! Are you God, to visit the sins of the parents 
upon the children ? ’ 

‘ Not that. I don’t mean that ; but I mean this, that she is 
half a Spaniard, mother ; and I cannot! — Her blood maybe 
as blue as King Philip’s own, but it is Spanish still 1 — I cannot 
bear the thought, that my children should have in their veins 
one drop of that poison.’ 

‘ Amyas ! Amyas ! ’ interrupted she, ‘ is this not, too, visiting 
the parents’ sins on the children ? ’ 

‘ Not a whit ; it is common sense, — she must have the taint 
of their bloodthirsty humor. She has it — I have seen it in 
her again and again. I have told you, have I not ? Can I 
forget the look of her eyes, as she stood over that galleon’s 
captain, with the smoking knife in her hand ? Ugh ! and she 
is not tamed yet, as yoji can see, and never will be : not that I 
care, except for her own sake, poor thing ! ’ 

‘ Cruel boy ! to impute as a blame to the poor child, not only 
the errors of her training, but the very madness of her love I ’ 

‘ Of her love ? ’ 

‘ Of what else ? ’ blind buzzard ? From the moment that 
you told me the story of that captain’s death, I knew what was 
in her heart, — and thus it is that you requite her for having 
saved your life 1 ’ 

‘Umph ! that is one word too much, mother. If you don’t 
want to send me crazy, don’t put the thing on the score of 
gratitude or duty. As it is, I can hardly speak civilly to her 
(God forgive me !) when I recollect that she belongs to the 
crew who murdered him — ’ and he pointed to the picture, and 
Mrs. Leigh shuddered as he did so. 

‘ You feel it ! You know you feel it, tender-hearted, forgiv- 
ing angel as you are : and what do you think I must feel ? ’ 

‘ Oh, my son, my son ! ’ cried she wringing her hands, ‘ if I 
be wretch enough to give place to the devil for a moment, does 
that give you a right to entertain and cherish him thus day by 
day ? ’ 

‘ I should cherish him with a vengeance, i^* I broyght up a 
crew of children who could boast of a pedigree of idolaters 
and tyrants, hunters of Indians, and torturers of women ? How 
45 


530 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS. 


pleasant to hear her telling Master Jack, “ Your illustrious 
grand-uncle, the Pope’s legate, was the man who burned Rose 
Salterne at Carthagena ; ” or Miss Grace, “ Your great grand- 
father of sixteen quarterings, the Marquis of this, son of the 
Grand-equerry that, and husband of the Princess t’other, used 
to feed his bloodhounds, when beef was scarce, with Indians’ 
babies ? ” Eh, mother ? These things are true, and if you can 
forget them, I cannot. Is it not enough to have made me forgo 
for awhile my purpose, my business, the one thing I live for, 
and that is, hunting down the Spaniards as I would adders or 
foxes, but you must ask me over and above to take one to my 
bosom } ’ 

‘ Oh, my son, my son ! I have not asked you to do that ; I 
have only commanded you, in God’s name, to be merciful, if 
you wish to obtain mercy. Oh, if you will not pity this poor 
maiden, pity yourself ; for God knows you stand in more need 
of it than she does ! ’ 

Amyas was silent for a minute or two; and then — 

‘ If it were not for you, mother, would God that the Armada 
would come ! ’ 

‘ What, and ruin England ? ’ , 

‘ No ! Curse them ! Not a foot will they ever set on English 
soil, such a welcome would we give them. If I were but in 
the midst of that fleet, fighting like a man — to forget it all, 
with a galleon on board of me to larboard, and another to 
starboard — and then to put a linstock in the magazine, and 
go aloft in good company — I don’t care how soon it comes, 
mother, if it were not for you.’ 

‘ If I am in you way, Amyas, do not fear that I shall trouble 
you long.’ 

‘ Oh, mother, mother ! do not talk in that way ! I am half- 
mad, I think, 'already, and don’t know what I say. Yes, I am 
mad ; mad at heart, though not at head. There’s a fire burning 
me up, night and day, and nothing but Spanish blood will put it 
out.’ 

‘ Or the grace of God, my poor wilful child ! Who comes to 
the door ? — so quickly, too .? ’ 

There was a loud hurried knocking, and in another minute, 
a serving man hurried in with -a letter. 

‘ This to Captain Amyas Leigh, with haste, haste ! ’ 

‘ It was Sir Richard’s hand. Amyas tore it open ; and ‘ a loud 
laugh laughed he.’ 

‘ The Armada is coming ! My wish has come true, mother ! ’ 

* God help us, it has ! Show me the letter.’ 

It was a hurried scrawl. 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 


531 


‘ D”* Godson, 

‘ Walsingham sends word that the A**®’ sailed from Lisbon to 
tlie Groyne the 18. of May. We know no more, but have com- 
mandment to stay the ships. Come down, dear lad, and give 
us counsel ; and may the Lord help His Church in this great 
strait. 

‘ Your loving godfather, R. G.’ 

‘ Forgive me, mother, mother, once for all ! ’ cried Amyas, 
throwing his arms round her neck. 

‘ I have nothing to forgive, my son, my son ! And shall I 
lose thee, also ? ’ 

‘ If I be killed, you will have two martyrs of your blood, 
mother ! — ’ 

Mrs. Leigh bowed her head, and was silent. Amyas caught 
up his hat and sword, and darted forth toward Bideford. 

Amyas literally danced into Sir Richard’s hall, where he 
stood talking earnestly with various merchants and captains. 

‘ Gloria, gloria ! gentles all ! The devil is broke loose at 
last ; and now we know where to have him on the hip ! ’ 

‘ Why so merry, Captain Leigh, when all else are sad .? ’ said 
a gentle voice by his side. 

‘ Because I have been sad a long time, while all else were 
merry, vdear lady. Is the hawk doleful when his hood is pulled 
off, and he sees the heron flapping right ahead of him .? ’ 

‘ You seem to forget the danger and the woe of us weak 
women. Sir ! ’ 

‘ I don’t forget the danger and the woe of one weak woman. 
Madam, and she the daughter of a man who once stood in this 
room,’ said Amyas, suddenly collecting himself, in a low stern 
voice. ‘ And 1 don’t forget the danger and the woe of one who 
w’as worth a thousand even of her. I don’t forget anything. 
Madam.’ 

‘ Nor forgive either, it seems.’ 

‘ It will be time to talk of forgiveness after the offender has 
repented and amended ; and does the sailing of the Armada 
look like that ? ’ 

‘Alas, no! God help us !’ 

‘ He will help us. Madam,’ said Amyas. 

‘ Admiral Leigh,’ said Sir Richard, ‘ we need you now, if 
ever. Here are the Queen’s orders to furnish as many ships 
as we can ; though from these gentlemen’s spirit, I should say 
the orders were well-nigh needless.’ 

‘ Not a doubt. Sir ; for my part, I will fit my ship at my 


532 


HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS 


own charges, and fight her too, as long as I have a leg or an 
arm left.’ 

‘ Or a tongue to say, never surrender. I’ll warrant ! ’ said an 
old merchant. ‘ You put life into us old fellows. Admiral 
Leigh : but it will be a heavy matter for those poor fellows 
in Virginia, and for my daughter, too. Madam Dare, with her 
young babe, as I hear, just born.’ 

‘ And a very heavy matter,’ said some one else, ‘ for those 
who have ventured their money in these cargoes, which must 
lie idle, you see, now for a year maybe — and then all the cost 
of unlading again — ’ 

‘ My good Sir,’ said Grenvile, ‘ what have private interests 
to do with this day ? Let us thank God if he only please to 
leave us the bare fee-simple of this English soil, the honor of 
our wives and daughters, and bodies safe from rack and faggot, 
to’ wield the swords of freemen in defence of a free land, even 
though every town and homestead in England were wasted with 
fire, and we left to rebuild over again all which our ancestors 
have wrought for us in now six hundred years. 

‘ Right, Sir ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ For my part, let my Virginian 
goods rot on the quay, if the worst comes to the worst. I begin 
unloading the Vengeance to-morrow ; and to sea as soon as I 
can fill up my crew to. a good fighting number.’ 

And so the talk ran on ; and ere two days were past, most 
of the neighboring gentlemen, summoned by Sir Richard, had 
come in, and great was the bidding against each other as to who 
should do most. Cary and Brimblecombe, with thirty tall 
Clovelly men, came across the bay, and without even asking 
leave of Amyas, took up their berths as a matter of course on 
board the Vengeance. In the meanwhile, the matter was taken 
up by families. The Fortescues (a numberless clan) oflbred to 
furnish a ship ; the Chichesters another, the Stukelys a third ; 
while the merchantmen were not backward. The Bucks, the 
Stranges, the Heards, joyfully unloaded their Virginia goods, 
and replaced them with powder and shot; and in a week’s time 
the whole seven were ready once more for sea, and dropped 
down into Appledore pool, with Amyas as their admiral for the 
time being (for Sir Richard had gone by land to Plymouth to 
join the deliberations there), and waited for the first favorable 
wind to start for the rendezvous in the Sound. 

At last, upon the twenty-first of June, the clank of the 
capstans rang merrily across the flats, and amid prayers and 
blessings, forth sailed that gallant squadron over the bar, to 
play their part in Britain’s Salamis ; while Mrs. Leigh stood 
watching as she stood once before, beside the churchyard wail : 


STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’s COMMAND. 533 

but not alone this time : for Ayacanora stood by her side, and 
gazed and gazed, till her eyes seemed ready to burst from their 
sockets. At last she turned away with a sob, — 

And he never bade me good-bye, mother ! ’ 

‘ God forgive him ! Come home and pray, my child ; there 
is no other rest on earth than prayer for woman’s heart ! ’ 

They were calling each other mother and daughter, then ? 
Yes. The sacred fire of sorrow was fast burning out all Aya- 
canora’s fallen savageness ; and like sl Phoenix, the true woman 
was rising from those ashes, fair, noble, and all-enduring, as 
God had made her. 


♦ 


45 * 


'/X,' ' 





r. i'? ^ 


534 


HOW THE ADMIEAL JOHN HAWKINS 


CHAPTER XXX. 

HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS TESTIFIED AGAINST 
CROAKERS. 

‘ Oh, where be these gay Spaniards, 

W'hich make so great a boast 0 ? 

Oh, they shall eat the grey goose-feather. 

And we shall eat the roast 0 ? ’ 

Cornish Song. 

What if the spectators who last summer gazed with just 
pride upon the noble port of Plymouth, its vast breakwater 
spanning the sound, its arsenals and docks, its two estuaries 
filled with gallant ships, and watched the great screw-liners 
turning within their own length by force invisible, or threading 
the crowded fleets with the ease of the tiniest boat; — what if, 
by some magic tifrn, the nineteenth century, and all the magni- 
ficence of its wealth and science, had vanished — as it may 
vanish hereafter — and they had found themselves thrown back 
three hundred years into the pleasant summer days of 158S ? 

Mount Edgecombe is still there, beautiful as ever : but where 
are the docks, and where is Devonport ? No vast dry-dock 
roofs rise at the water’s edge. Drake’s island carries but a 
paltry battery, just raised by the man whose name it bears ; 
Mount Wise is a lone gentleman’s house among fields ; the cita- 
del is a pop-gun fort, which a third-class steamer would shell 
into rubble for an afternoon’s amusement. And the shipping, 
where are they } The floating castles of the Hamoaze have 
dwindled to a few crawling lime-hoys ; and the Catwater is 
packed, not as now, with merchant craft, but with the ships who 
will to-morrow begin the greatest sea-fight which the world has 
'ever seen. 

TJiere they lie, a paltry squadron enough in modern eyes; 
the largest of them not equal in size to a six-and-thirty gun 
frigate, carrying less weight of metal than one of our new gun- 
boats, and able to employ even that at not more than a quarter 
of our modern range. Would our modern spectators, just come 
down by rail for a few hours, to see the cavalry embark, and 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 


535 


return to-morrow in time for dinner, have looked down upon 
that petty port, and petty fleet, with a contemptuous smile, and 
began some flippant speech about the progress of intellect, and 
the triumphs of science, and our benighted ancestors ? They 
would have done so, doubt it not, if they belonged to the many 
who gaze on those very triumphs as on a raree-show to feed their 
silly wonder, or use and enjoy them without thankfulness or 
understanding, as the ox eats the clover thrust into his 'rack, 
without knowing or caring how it grew. But if any of them 
were of the class by whom these very triumphs have been 
achieved ; the thinkers and the workers, who instead of entering 
lazily into other men’s labors, as the mob does, labor them- 
selves ; who know by hard experience the struggles, self-re- 
straints, the disappointments, the slow and staggering steps, by 
which the discoverer reaches to his prize, then the smile of those 
men would not have been one of pity, but rather of filial love. 
For they would have seen in those outwardly paltry ornaments 
the potential germ of that mightier one which now loads the Black 
Sea waves ; they would have been aware, that to produce it, 
with such materials and knowledge as then existed, demanded 
an intellect, an energy, a spirit of progress and invention, equal, 
if not superior, to those of which we now so loudly boast. 

But if, again, he had been a student of men rather than of 
machinery, he would have found few nobler companies, on 
whom to exercise his discernment, than he might have seen in 
the little terrace bowling-green behind the Pelican Inn, on the 
afternoon of the nineteenth of July. Chatting in groups, or 
lounging over the low wall which commanded a view of the 
sound and the shipping far below, were gathered almost every 
notable man of the Plymouth fleet, the whole posse comitatus 
of ‘ England’s forgotten worthies.’ The Armada has been 
scattered by a storm. Lord Howard has been out to look for it, 
as far as the Spanish coast ; but the wind has shifted to the 
souths and fearing lest the Dons should pass him, he has 
returned to Plymouth, uncertain whether the Armada will come, 
after all, or not. Slip on for awhile, like Prince Hal, the drawer’s 
apron ; come in through the rose-clad door which opens from 
the tavern, with a tray of long-necked Dutch glasses, and a 
silver tankard of wine, and look round you at the gallant cap- 
tains, who are waiting for the Spanish Armada, as lions in their 
lair might wait for the passing herd of deer. 

See those five talking earnestly, in the centre of a ring, 
which longs to overhear, and yet is too respectful to approach 
close. Those soft long eyes and pointed chin you recognize 
already ; they are Walter Raleigh’s. The fair young man in 


536 


HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS 


the flame-colored doublet, whose arm is round Raleigh’s neck, 
is Lord Sheffierd ; opposite them stands, by the side of Sir 
Richard Grenvile, a man as stately even as he. Lord Shefiield’s 
uncle, the Lord Charles Howard of Effingham, Lord High 
Admiral of England ; next to him is his son-in-law. Sir Robert 
Southwell, captain of the Elizabeth Jonas ; but who is that 
short, sturdy, plainly dressed man, who stands with legs a little 
apart, and, hands behind his back, looking up, with keen grey 
eyes, into the face of each speaker ? His cap is in his hands, 
so you can see the bullet head of crisp brown hair and the 
wrinkled forehead, as well as the high cheek bones, the short 
square face, the broad temples, the thick lips, which are yet 
firm as granite. A coarse, plebeian stamp of man ; yet the 
whole figure and attitude are that of boundless determination, 
self-possession, energy ; and, when at last he speaks a few 
blunt words all eyes are turned respectfully upon him; — for 
his name is Francis Drake. 

A burly, grizzled elder, in greasy sea-stained garments, con- 
trasting oddly with the huge gold chain about his neck, waddles 
up, as if he had been born, and had lived ever since, in a gale 
of wind at sea. The upper half of his broad visage seems of 
brick-red leather, the lower of badger’s fur ; and, as he claps 
Drake on the back, and, with a broad Devon twang, shouts, 

‘ Be you a coming to drink your wine, Francis Drake, or be 
you not? — saving your presence, my Lord,’ the Lord High 
Admiral only laughs, and bids Drake go and drink his wine ; 
for John Hawkins, Admiral of the Port, is the patriarch of Ply- 
mouth seamen, if Drake be their hero, and says and does pretty 
much what he likes in any company on earth. 

So they push through the crowd, wherein is many another 
man whom one would gladly have spoken with face to face on 
earth. Martin Frobisher and John Davis are sitting on that 
bench, smoking tobacco from long silver pipes, and by them 
are Fenton and Withrington, who have both tried to follow 
Drake’s path round the world, and failed, though by no .fault of 
their own. The man who pledges them better luck next time, 
is George Fenner, known to ‘ the seven Portugals,’ Leicester’s 
pet, and captain of the galleon which Elizabeth bought of him. 
That short, prim man in the huge yellow ruff, with sharp chin, 
minute imperial, and self-satisfied smile, is Richard Hawkins, 
the Complete Seaman, Admiral John’s hereafter famous and 
hapless son. The elder who is talking with him is his good 
uncle William, whose monument still stands, or should stand, in 
Deptford Church ; for Admiral John set it up there but one year 
after this time ; nnd on it record how he was, ^ A worshipper 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 


537 


of the true religion, an especial benefactor of poor sailors, a 
most ju^t arbiter in most difficult causes, and of a singular faith, 
piety, and prudence.’ That, and the fact that he got creditably 
through some sharp work at Porto Rico, is all I know of Wil- 
liam Hawkins : but if you or I, reader, can have as much or 
half as much said of us when we have to follow him, we shall 
have no reason to complain. 

There is John Drake, Sir Francis’s brother, ancestor of the 
present stock of Drakes ; and there is George, his nephew, a 
man not overwise, who has been round the world with Amyas ; 
and there is Amyas himself, talking to one who answers him 
with fierce curt sentences. Captain Barker, brother of the hap- 
less Andrew Barker who found John Oxenham’s guns, and, 
owing, to a mutiny among his men, perished by the Spaniards in 
Honduras, twelve years ago. Barker is now captain of the 
Victory, one of the Queen’s best ships ; and he has his accounts 
to settle with the Dons, as Amyas has ; so they are both growl- 
ing together ina corner, while all the rest are as merry as the 
flies upon the vine above their heads. 

But who is the aged man who sits upon a bench against the 
south wall of the tavern, his long white beard flowing almost to 
his waist, his hands upon his knees, his palsied head moving 
slowly from side to side to catch the scraps of discourse of the 
passing captains ? His great-grandchild, a little maid of six, 
has laid her curly head upon his knees, and his grand-daughter, 
a buxom black-eyed dame of thirty, stands by him and tends 
him, half as nurse, and half, too, as showman, for he seems an 
object of curiosity to all the captains, and his fair nurse has to 
entreat again and again, ‘ Bless you. Sir, please now, don’t 
give him no liquor, poor old soul, the doctor says.’ It is old 
Martin Cockrem, father of the ancient host, aged himself beyond 
the years of man, who can recollect the bells of Plymouth 
ringing for the coronation of Henry the Eighth, and who was 
the first Englishman, perhaps, who ever set foot on the soil of 
the New World. There he sits, like an old Druid Tor of pri- 
meval granite amid the tall wheat and rich clover crops of a 
modern farm. He has seen the death of old Europe and the 
birth-throes of the new. Go to him, and question him ; for his 
senses are quick as ever, and just now the old man seems 
uneasy. He is peering with rheumy eyes through the groups, 
and seems listening for a well-known voice. 

‘ There ’a be again ! Why don’t a’ come, then ? ’ 

‘ Quiet, Gramfer, and don’t trouble his worship.’ 

‘ Here an hour, and never speak to poor old Martin ! I say. 


538 


HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS 


Sir’ — and the old man feebly plucks Amyas’s cloak as he 
passes. ‘ I say, Captain, do’e tell young master old Martin’s 
looking for him.’ 

‘ Marcy, Gramfer, where’s your manners ? Don’t be vexed, 
Sir, he’m a’most a babe, and tejous at times, mortal.’ 

‘ Young master who ? ’ says Amyas, bending down to the old 
man, and smiling to the dame to let him have his way. 

‘ Master Hawkins ; he’m never been near me all day.’ 

Off goes Amyas, and, of course, lays hold of the sleeve of 
young Richard Hawkins ; but as he is in act to speak, the dame 
lays hold of his, laughing and blushing. 

‘No, Sir, not Mr. Richard, Sir; Admiral John, Sir, his 
father ; he always calls him young master, poor old soul ! ’ and 
she points to the grizzled beard and the face scarred and tanned 
with fifty years of fight and storm. 

Arnyas goes to the Admiral, and gives his message. 

‘ Mercy on me ? ‘Where be my wits ? Iss, I’m a coming,’ 
says the old hero in his broadest Devon, waddles off to the old 
man, and begins lugging at a pocket. ‘ Here, Martin, I’ve 
got mun, I’ve got mun, man alive ; but his Lordship keept me 
so. Lookee here, then ! Why, I do get so lusty of late, Mar- 
tin, I can’t get to my pockets ! ’ 

And out struggle a piece of tarred string, a bundle of papers, a 
thimble, a piece of pudding-tobacco, and last of all, a little paper 
of Muscovado sugar — then as great a delicacy as any French 
bonbons would be now — which he thrusts into the old man’s 
eager and trembling hand. 

Old Martin begins dipping his finger into it, and rubbing it 
on his toothless gums, smiling and nodding thanks to his young 
master : while the little maid at his knee, unrebuked, takes her 
share also. 

‘There, Admiral Leigh; both ends meet — gramfers and 
babies ! You and I shall be like to that one day, young 
Samson ! ’ 

‘ We shall have slain a good many Philistines first, 1 hope.’ 

‘ Amen ! so be it : but look to mun ; so fine a sailor as ever 
drank liquor, and now greedy after a bit 'of sweet trade ! ’tis 
piteous, like : but I bring mun a bit whenever I come, and he 
looks for it. He’s one of my own flesh like, is old Martin. 
He sailed with my father. Captain Will, when they was both 
two little cracks aboard of a trawler ; and my father went up, 
and here I am — he didn’t, and there he is.’ We’m up now, 
we Hawkinses. We may be down again some day.’ 

‘ Never, I trust,’ said Amyas. 

‘ ’Tain’t no use trusting, young man : you go and do. I do 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 


539 


hear too mucli of that there from my lad. Let they ministers 
preach till ihey’m black in the face, works is the trade ! ’ with 
a nudge in Amyas’s ribs. ‘ Faith can’t save, nor charity 
neither. There, you tell with him, while I go play bowls with 
Drake. He’ll tell you a sight of stories. You ask him about 
good King Hal, now, just — ’ 

And otf waddled the Port Admiral. 

‘ You have seen good King Henry then, father ? ’ said 
Amyas, interested. 

The old man’s eyes lighted at once, and he stopped mumbling 
his sugar. 

‘ Seed mun ? Iss, I reckon. I was with Captain Will when 
he went to meet the Frenchman there to Calais — at the Field, 
the Field ’ — 

‘ The Field of the Cloth of Gold, Gramfer,’ suggested the 
dame. • 

‘ That’s it. Seed mun ? Iss, fegs. Oh, he was a king ! 
The face o’ mun like a rising sun, and the back o’ mun so broad 
as that there ’ (and he held out his palsied arms), ‘ and the 
voice o’ mun ! Oh, to hear mun swear if he was merry, oh, 
’twas royal ! Seed mun ? Iss, fegs ! And I’ve seed mun do 
what few has ; I’ve seed mun christle like any child.’ 

‘ What — cry ? ’ said Amyas. ‘ I shouldn’t have thought 
there was much cry in him.’ 

‘ You think what you like — ’ 

‘ Gramfer, Gramfer, don’t you be rude, now — ’ 

‘ Let him go on,’ said Amyas. 

‘ I seed mun christle ; and, oh dear, how he did put hands on 
mun’s face ; and “ Oh, my gentlemen,” said he, “ my gentle- 
men ! Oh, my gallant men ! ” Them was his very words.’ 

‘ But when ? ’ 

‘ Why Captain Will had just come to the Hard — that’s to 
Portsmouth — to speak with mun, and the barge Royal lay 
again the Hard — so; and our boot alongside — so; and the 
king he standth as it might be there, above my head, on the 
quay edge, and she come in near abreast of us, looking most 
royal to behold, poor dear ! and went to cast about. And 
Captain Will, sailh he, “ Them lower ports is cruel near the 
water;” for she had not more than a sixteen inches to spare in 
the nether overloop, as I heard after. And saith he, “ That 
won’t do for going to windward in a say, Martin.” And as the 
words came out of mun’s mouth, your worship, there was a bit 
of a flaw from the westward, sharp like, and overboard goeth 
my cap, and hitth against the'wall, and as I stooped to pick it 
up, I heard a cry, and it was all over ! ’ 


540 


HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS 


‘ He is telling of the Mary Rose, Sir.’ 

‘ I guessed so.’ 

‘All over: and the cry of mun, and the screech of mun ! 
Oh, Sir, up to the very heavens ! And the king he screeched 
right out, like any niaid, “ Oh my gentlemen, oh my gallant 
men ! ” And as she lay on her beam-ends. Sir, and just a-set- 
tling, the very last souls I seen was that man’s father, and that 
man’s. 1 knowed mun by their armor.’ 

And he pointed to Sir George Carew and Sir Richard Gren- 
vile. 

‘ Iss ! Iss ! Drowned like rattens ! Drowned like rattens ! ’ 

‘Now ; you mustn’t trouble his worship any more.’ 

‘ Trouble ?' Let him tell till midnight, 1 shall be well pleased,’ 
said Amyas, sitting down on the bench by him. ‘ Drawer.? ale 
— and a parcel of tobacco.’ 

And Amyas settled himself to listen, while the old man purred 
to himself — 

‘ Iss. They likes to hear old Martin. All the captains look 
upon old Martin.’ 

‘ Hillo, Amyas !’ said Cary, ‘ who’s your friend .? Here’s a 
man been telling me wonders about the River Plate. We should 
go thither for luck next time. 

‘ River Plate .? ’ said old Martin ; ‘ it’s I knows all about the 
River Plate ; none so well. Who’d ever been there, nor heard 
of it nether, before Captain Will and me went, and I lived 
among the savages a whole year : and audacious civil I found 
’em, if they’d had but shirts to their backs ; and so was the 
prince o’ mun, that Captain Will brought home to King Henry ; 
leastwise he died on the voyage ; but the wild folk took it cruel 
well, for you see, we was always as civil with them as Chris- 
tians, and if we hadn’t been, I should not have been here now.’ 

‘ What year was that .? ’ 

‘ In the fifteen thirty : but I was there afore, and learnt the 
speech o’ mun ; and that’s why Captain Will left me to a host- 
age, when we tuked their prince.’ 

‘ Before that ? ’ said Cary ; ‘ why, the country was hardly 
known before that.’ 

The old man’s eyes flashed up in triumph. 

‘ Knowed .? Iss, and you may well say that ! Look ye here ! 
Look to mun ! ’ and he waved his hand round — ‘There’s cap- 
tains ! and I’m the father of ’em all now, now poor Captain 
Will’s in gloory ; I, Martin Cockrem ! . . . Iss, I’ve seen a 
change. 1 mind when Tavistock Abbey was so full o’ friars, 
and goolden idols, and sich noxious trade, as ever was a wheat- 
rick of rats. I mind the fight off Brest, in the French wars — 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 


541 . 


Oh, that was a fight, surely ! — when the Regent and the French 
Carack were burnt side by side, being fast grappled, you see, 
because of Sir Thomas Knivet ; and Captain Will gave him 
warning as he ran a-past us, saying, says he — ’ 

‘ But,’ said Amyas, seeing that the old man was wandering 
away, ‘ what do you mind about America ? ’ 

‘ America ? 1 should think so ! But I was a-going to tell 

you of the Regent — and seven hundred Englishmen burnt and 
drowned in her, and nine hundred French in the Brest ship, 
besides what we picked up. Oh dear ! But about America.’ 

‘Yes, about America. How are you the father of all the 
captains ? ’ 

‘ How ? you ask my young master ! Why, before the fifteen 
thirty I was up the Plate with Cabot (and a cruel, fractious, 
ontrustful fellow he was, like all the Portingals), and bid there 
a year and more, and up the Paraguaio with him, diskivering 
no end ; whereby, gentles, I was the first Englishman, I hold, 
that ever sot a foot on the New World, I was ! ’ 

‘ Then here’s your health, and long life. Sir ! ’ said Amyas 
and Cary. 

‘Long life? Iss, fegs, I reckon, long enough . a’ ready ! 
Why, I mind the beginning of it all, I do. I mind when thbre 
wasn’t a master mariner to Plymouth, that thou^it there was 
aught west of the Land’s end except herrings. Why, they held 
them, pure wratches, that if you sailed right west away far 
enough, you’d surely come to the edge, and fall over cleve. 
Iss — ’twas dark parts round here, till Captain Will arose ; and 
the first of it I mind was inside the bar of San Lucar, and he 
and I were boys about a ten year old, aboord.of a Dartmouth 
ship, and went for wine ; and there come in over the bar he that 
was the beginning of it all.’ 

‘ Columbus ? ’ 

‘ Iss, fegs, he did, not a pistol-shot from us ; and I saw mun 
stand on the poop, so plain as I see you ; no great shakes of a 
man to look to nether ; there’s a sight better here, to plase 
me ; and we was disappointed, we lads, for we surely expected 
to see mun with a goolden crown on, and a sceptre to a’s hand, 
we did, and the ship o’ mun all ov^r like Solomon’s temple for 
gloory. And I mind that same year, too, seeing Vasco de 
Gama, as was going out over the bar, when he found the 
Bona Speranza, and sailed round it to the Indies. Ah, that was 
the making of they rascally Portingals, it was ! . . . And 

our crew told what they seen and heerd ; but nobody minded 
sich things. ’Twas dark parts, and Popish, then ; and nobody 
kiiovved nothing, nor got no schooling, nor cared for nothing 
46 


542 • HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS 

but scrattling up and down alongshore like to prawns in a pule. 
JiS, sitting in darkness, we was, and the shadow of death, till 
the day-spring from on high arose, and shined upon us poor 
out-o’-the-way folk — the Lord be praised ! And now, look to 
mun ! ’ and he waved his hand all round — ‘ Look to niun ! 
Look to the works of the Lord ! Look to the captains ! Oh 
blessed sight ! And one’s been to the Brazils, and one to the 
Indies and the Spanish Main, and the Northwest, and the 
Rooshias, and the Chinas, and up the Straits, and round the 
Cape, and round the world of God, too, bless His holy name ; 
and I seed the beginning of it ; and I’ll see the end of it too, I 
will ! I was born into the old times ; but I’ll see the wondrous 
works of the new, yet, I will ! I’ll see they bloody Spaniards 
swept off the seas before I die, if my old eyes can reach so far 
as outside the Sound. I shall, I knows it. I says my prayers 
for it every night; don’t I, Mary.? You’ll bate mun; sure 
as Judgment, you’ll bate mun ! The Lord’ll fight for ye. 
Nothing’ll stand against ye. I’ve seed it all along — ever since 
I was with young master to the Honduras. They can’t bide the 
push of us ! You’ll bate mun off the face of the seas, and be 
masters of the round world, and all that therein is. And then 
I’ll just turn my old face to the wall, and depart in peace, 
according to His word. 

‘ Deary me, now, while I’ve been telling with you, here ’ve 
this little maid been and ate up all my sugar ! ’ 

‘ I’ll bring you some more,’ said Arnyas ; whom the childish 
bathos of the last sentence moved rather to sighs than laughter. 

‘ Will ye, then .? There’s a good soul, and come and tell 
with old Martin. * He likes to see the brave young gentlemen, 
a-going to and fro in their ships, like Leviathan, and taking of 
their pastime therein. We had no such ships to our days. 
Ah, ’tis grand times, beautiful times surely — and you’ll bring 
me a bit sugar ? ’ 

‘ You were up the Plate with Cabot .? ’ said Cary, after a 
pause. ‘Do you mind the fair lady Miranda, Sebastian de 
Hurtado’s wife ? ’ 

‘ What ! her that was burnt by the Indians ? Mind her ? Do 
you mind the sun in heaven Oh, the beauty ! Oh, the ways 
of her ! Oh, the speech of her ! Never was, nor never will 
be ! And she to die by they villains ; and all for the goodness 
of her ! Mind her .? 1 minded nought else when she was on 

deck.’ 

‘ Who was she ? ’ asked Arnyas of Cary. 

‘A Spanish angel, Arnyas.’ 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 543 

‘ Humph ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ So much the worse for her to be 
born into a nation of devils.’ 

‘They'mnot all so bad as that, your honor. Her husband 
was a proper gallant gentleman, and kind as a maid, too, and 
couldn’t abide that De Solis’s murderous doings.’ 

‘ His wife must have taught it to him, then,’ said Amyas, 
rising. ‘ Where did you hear of these black swans, Cary ? ’ 

‘ I have heard of them, and that’s enough,’ answered he, un- 
willing to stir sad recollections. 

‘ And little enough,’ said Amyas. ‘ Will, don’t talk to me. 
The devil is not grown white because 'he has trod in a lime- 
heap.’ 

‘ Or an angel black because she came down a chimney,’ said 
Cary ; and so the talk ended, or rather was cut short ; for the 
talk of all the groups was interrupted by an explosion from old 
John Hawkins. 

‘ Fail ? Fail ? What a murrain do you here, to talk of failing ? 
Who made you a prophet, you scurvy, hang-in-the-wind, croak- 
ing, white-livered son of a corby-crovv ? ’ 

’ Heaven help us. Admiral Hawkins, who has put fire to your 
culverins in this fashion ? ’ said Lord Howard. 

‘ Who ? my Lord ! Croakers ! my Lord ! Here’s a fellow 
calls himself the captain of a ship, and Her Majesty’s servant, 
and talks about failing, as if he were a Barbican loose-kirtle 
trying to keep her apple-squire ashore ! Blurt for him, sneak 
up ! say I,’ 

‘ Admiral John Hawkins,’ quoth the offender, * you shall 
answer this language with your sword.’ 

‘ I’ll answer it with my foot, and buy me a pair of horn-tips 
to my shoes, like a wraxling-man. Fight a croaker ? Fight a 
frog, an owl ! 1 fight those that dare fight. Sir ! ’ 

‘ Sir, Sir, moderate yourself. I am sure this gentleman will 
show himself as brave as any, when it comes to blows ; but who 
can blame mortal man for trembling before so fearful a chance 
as this ? ’ 

‘ Let mortal man keep his tremblings to himself, then, my 
Lord, and not be like Solomon’s madmen, casting abroad fire 
and death, and saying, it is only in sport. There is more than 
one of his kidney, your Lordship, who have not been ashamed 
to play Mother Shipton before their own sailors, and damp the 
poor fellows’ hearts with crying before they’re hurt, and this is 
one of them. I’ve heard him at it afore, and I’ll present him, 
with a vengeance, though I’m no churchwarden.’ 

‘ If this is really so, Admiral Hawkins — ’ 


544 


HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS 


‘ It is SO, my Lord ! I heard only last night, down in a tavern 
below, such unbelieving talk as made me mad, my Lord ; and 
if it had not been after supper, and my hand was not over- 
steady, I would have let out a pottle of Alicant from some of 
their hoopings, and sent them to Dick Surgeon, to wrap them in 
swaddling-clouts, like whining babies as they are. Marry come 
up, what says Scripture? “ He that is fearful and faint-hearted 
among you, let him go and” — what? son Dick there ? Thou’rt 
pious, and read’st thy Bible. What’s that text ? A mortal fine 
one it is, too.’ 

‘ “ He that is fearful and faint-hearted among you, let him go 
back,” ’ quoth the Complete Seaman. ‘ Captain Merryweather, 
as my father’s command, as well as his years, forbid his an- 
swering your challenge, I shall repute it an honor to entertain 
his quarrel myself — place, time, and weapons being at your 
choice.’ 

‘ Well spoken, son Dick — and like a true courtier, too ! 
Ah ! thou hast the palabrus, and the knee, and the cap, and the 
quip, and the innuendo, and the true Town fashion of it all — no 
old tarry-breeks of a sea-dog, like thy dad ! My Lord, you’ll 
let them fight ? ’ 

‘The Spaniard, Sir: but no one else. But, captains and 
gentlemen, consider well my friend the Port Admiral’s advice ; 
and if any man’s heart misgives him, let him, for the sake of 
his country and his Queen, have so much government of his 
tongue to hide his fears in his own bosom, and leave open 
complaining to ribalds and women. For if the sailor be not 
cheered by his commander’s cheerfulness, how will the. ignorant 
man find comfort in himself? And without faith and hope, how 
can he fight worthily ? ’ 

‘ There is no croaking aboard of us, we will warrant,’ said 
twenty voices, ‘ and shall be none, as long as we command on 
board our own ships.’ 

Hawkins, having blown off his steam, went back to Drake 
and the bowls. 

‘ Fill my pipe, drawer — that croaking fellow’s made me 
let it out, of course ! Spoil-sports ! The father of all manner 
of troubles on earth, be they noxious trade of croakers ! 
“ Better to meet a bear robbed of her whelps,” Francis Drake, 
as Solomon saith, than a fule who can’t keep his mouth shut. 
What brought Mr. Andrew Barker to his death, but croakers? 
What stopped Fenton’s China voyage in the ’82, and lost your 
nephew John, and my brother Will, glory and hard cash too, 
but croakers? What sent back my Lord Cumberland’s arma- 
da in the ’86, and that after they’d proved their strength, too, sixty 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 


545 


o mun against six hundred Portugals and Indians; and yet 
wern’t ashamed to turn round and come home empty-handed 
after all my Lord’s expenses that he had been at ? What but 
these same beggarly croakers, that be only fit to be turned into 
yellow hammers up to Dartymoor, and sit on a tor all day, and 
cry “Very little bit of bread, and no chee-e-ese ! ” Marry, 
sneak-up ! say I again.’ 

‘ And what,’ said Drake, ‘ would have kept me, if I’d let 
’em, from ever sailing round the world, but these same croak- 
ers ? I hanged my best friend for croaking, John Hawkins, 
may God forgive me if I was wrong, and I threatened a week 
after to hang thirty more ; and I’d have done it too, if they 
hadn’t clapped tompions into their muzzles pretty fast.’ 

‘ You’m right, Frank. My old father always told me — and 
old King Hal (bless his memory !) would take his counsel 
among a thousand ; — “ And, my son,” says he to me, “ whatever 
you do, never you stand no croaking : but hang mun, son Jack, 
hang mun up for an ensign. There’s Scripture for it,” says 
he (he was a mighty man to his Bible, after bloody Mary’s 
days, leastwise), “and ’tis written,” says he, “ it’s expedient that 
one man die for the crew, and that the whole crew perish not ; 
so show you no mercy, son Jack, of you’ll find none, least- 
wise in they manner of cattle ; for if you fail, they stamps 
on you, and if you succeeds, they takes the credit of it to 
themselves, and goes to heaven in your shoes.” Those were 
his words, and I’ve found mun true. Who com’th here 
now ? ’ 

‘ Captain Fleming, as I’m a sinner.’ 

‘ Fleming ^ ’ Is he tired of life, that he cometh here to look 
for a halter ? I’ve a warrant out against mun, for robbing 
of two Flushingers on the high seas, now this very last year. 
Is the fellow mazed or drunk, then ? or has he seen a ghost ? 
Look to mun ! ’ 

‘ I think so, truly,’ said Drake. ‘ His eyes are near out of 
his head.’ 

The man was a rough-bearded old sea-dog, who had just 
burst in from the tavern through the low hatch, upsetting a 
drawer with all his glasses, and now came panting and blowing 
straight up to the High Admiral, — 

‘ My Lord, my Lord ! They’m coming ! I saw them off 
the Lizard last night ! ’ 

‘ Who ? my good Sir, who seem to have left your manners 
behind you.’ 

‘The Armada, your worship, — the Spaniard: but as for 
46 * 


546 


HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS 


my manners, ’tis no fault of mine, for I never had none to 
leave behind me.’ 

‘ If he has not left his manners behind,’ . quoth Hawkins, 

‘ look out for your purses, gentlemen all ! He’s manners enough, 
and very bad ones they be, when he cometh across a quiet 
Flushinger.’ 

‘ If I stole Flushinger’s wines, 1 never stole Negurs’ souls. 
Jack Hawkins ; so there’s your answer. My Lord, hang me 
if you will : life’s short and death’s easy, ’specially to sea- 
men ; but if I didn’t see the Spanish fleet last sundown, coming 
along half-moon wise, and full seven mile from wing to wing, 
within a four mile of me, I’m a sinner.’ 

‘Sirrah,’ said Lord Howard, ‘ is this no fetch, to cheat us 
out of your pardon for these piracies of yours ? ’ 

‘ You’ll find out for yourself before nightfall, my Lord High 
Admiral. All Jack Fleming says is, that this is a poor sort of 
an answer to a man who has put his own neck into the halter 
for the sake of his country.’ 

‘ Perhaps it is,’ said Lord Howard. ‘ And after all, gentle- 
men, what can this man gain by a lie, which must be discov- 
ered ere the day is over, except a more certain hanging ? ’ 

‘ Very true, your Lordship,’ said Hawkins, mollified ; ‘come 
here. Jack Fleming — what wilt drain, man? Hippocras or 
Alicant, Sack or John Barleycorn, and a pledge to thy repent- 
ance and amendment of life.’ 

‘ Admiral Plawkins, Admiral Hawkins, this is no time for 
drinking.’ 

‘ Why not, then, my Lord ? Good news should be welcomed 
with good wine. Frank, send down to the sexton, and set the 
bells a-ringing to cheer up all honest hearts. -Why, my Lord, 
if it were not for the gravity of my office, I could dance a gal- 
liard for joy ! ’ 

‘ Well, you may dance. Port Admiral : but 1 must go- and 
plan : but God give to all captains such a heart as your’s this 
day ! ’ 

‘ And God give all generals such a head as yours ! Come, 
Frank Drake, we’ll play the game out before we move. It will 
be two good days before we shall be fit* to tackle them, so an 
odd half-hour don’t matter.’ 

‘ I must command the help of your counsel, Vice-Admiral,’ 
said Lord Charles, turning to Drake. 

‘ And it’s this, my good Lord,’ said Drake, looking up, as he 
aimed his bowl. ‘ They’ll come soon enough for us to sh.ow 
them sport, and yet slow enough for us to be ready ; so let no 


TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS. 


547 


man hurry himself. And as example is better than precept, 
here goes.’ 

Lord Howard shrugged his shoulders and departed, knowing 
two things ; first, that to move Drake was to move mountains ; 
and next, that when the self-taught hero did bestir himself, he 
would do more work in an hour than any one else in a day. 
So he departed, followed hastily by most of the captains ; and 
Drake said in a low voice to Hawkins, — 

‘ Does he think we are going to knock about on a lee-shore 
all the afternoon, and run our noses at night — and dead up- 
wind, too — into the Dons’ mouths? No, Jack, my friend. 
Let Orlando-Furioso-punctilio-fire-eaters go and get their knuc- 
kles rapped. The following game is the game, and not the 
meeting one. The dog goes after the sheep, and not afore 
them, lad. Let them go by, and go by, and stick to them well 
to windward, and pick up stragglers, and pickings, too. Jack — 
the prizes. Jack ! ’ 

‘ Trust my old eyes for not being over-quick at seeing sig- 
nals, if I be hanging in the skirts of a fat-looking Don. We’m 
the eagles, Drake ; and where the carcase is, is our place, 
eh ? ’ 

And so the two old sea-dogs chatted on, while their com- 
panions dropped off one by one, and only Amyas remained. 

‘ Eh, Captain Leigh, where’s my boy Dick ? ’ 

‘ Gone otf with his Lordship, Sir John.’ 

‘ On his punctilios too, I suppose, the young slashed -breeks. 
He’s half a Don, that fellow, with his fine scholarship, and his 
fine manners, and his fine clothes. He’ll get a taking-down 
before he dies, unless he mends. Why ain’t you gone, too. 
Sir ? ’ 

‘ I follow my leader,’ said Amyas, filling his pipe. 

‘Well said, my big man,’ quoth Drake. ‘If I could lead 
you round the world, 1 can lead you up the Channel, can’t I ? — 
'Eh ? my little bantam-cock of the Orinoco ? Drink, lad ! You’re 
over-sad to-day.’ 

‘Not a whit,’ said Amyas. ‘Only I can’t help wondering 
whether I shall find him, after all.’ 

‘Whom? That Don? We’ll find him for you, if he’s in 
the fleet. We’ll squeeze it out of our prisoners, somehow. 
Eh, Hawkins ? I thought all the captains had promised to 
send you news if they heard of him.’ 

‘ Ay, but it’s ill looking for a needle in a haystack. But I 
shall find him. 1 am a coward to doubt it,’ said Amyas, setting 
his teeth. 

‘ There, Vice-Admiral, your’re beaten, and that’s the rubber. 


.548 HOW THE -ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS TESTIFIED, ETC. 

Pay up three dollars, old high-flyer, and go and earn more, 
like an honest adventurer.’ 

‘ Well,’ said Drake, as he pulled out his purse, we’ll walk 
down now, and see about these young hot-heads. As I live, 
they are setting to tow the ships out already ! Breaking the 
men’s backs over-night, to make them fight the lustier in the 
morning ! Well, well, they havn’t jailed round the world. 
Jack Hawkins.’ 

‘ Or had to run home from St. Juan d’Ulloa with half a 
crew.’ 

‘ Well if we haven’t to run out with half crews ! I saw a 
sight of our lads drunk about this morning.’ 

‘ The more reason for waiting till they be sober. Besides, if 
everybody’s caranting about to once each after his own men, 
nobody will find nothing in such a scrimmage as that. Bye, 
bye. Uncle Martin. We’m going to blow the Dons up now, in 
earnest.’ 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


549 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE GREAT ARMADA. 

‘ Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep. 

Her march is o’er the mountain wave. 

Her home is on the deep.’ 

Campbell. Ve Mariners of England. 

And now began that great sea-fight, which was to determine 
whether Popery and despotism, or Protestantism and freedom, 
were the law which God had appointed for the half of Europe, 
and the whole of future America. It is a twelve days’ epic, 
worthy, as I said in the beginning of this book, not of dull prose, 
but of the thunder- roll of Homer’s verse : but having to tell it, 
I must do my best, rather using, where I can, the words of con- 
temporary authors than my own. 

‘ The Lord High Admirall of England, sending a pinnace 
before, called the Defiance, denounced war by discharging her 
ordnance ; and presently approaching within musquet-shot, with 
much thundering out of his own ship, called the Arkroyall 
(alias the Triumph), first set upon the admirall’s, as he thought, 
of the Spaniards (but it was Alfonso de Leon’s ship). Soon 
after, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher played stoutly with their 
ordnance on the hindmost squadron, which was commanded by 
Recalde.’ The Spaniards soon discover the superior ‘ nimble- 
ness of tbe English ships ; ’ and Recalde’s squadron, finding 
that they are getting more than they give, in spite of his en- 
deavors, hurry forward to join the rest of the fleet. Medina 
the Admiral, finding his ships scattering fast, gathers them into 
a half-moon ; and the Armada tries to keep solemn way for- 
ward, like a stately herd of buffaloes, who march on across the 
prairie, disdaining to notice the wolves which snarl around their 
track. But in vain. These are no wolves, but cunning hunters, 
swiftly horsed, and keenly armed, and who will ‘ shamefully 
shuffle’ (to use Drake’s own expression) that vast herd from 


550 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


the Lizard to Portland, from Portland to Calais Roads; and 
who, even in this short two hours’ fight, have made many 
Spaniard question the boasted invincibleness of this Armada. i 

One of the four great galliassess is already riddled with shot, ^ 
to the great disarrangement of her ‘ pulpits, chapels,’ and friars i 
therein assistant. The fleet has to close round her, or Drake 
and Hawkins will sink her : in effecting which manoeuvre, the 
‘ principal galleon of Seville,’ in which are Pedro de Valdez 
and a host of blue-blooded Dons, runs foul of her neighbor, 
carries away her fore-mast, and is, in spite of Spanish chivalry, 
left to her fate. This does not look like victory, certainly. 
But courage! though Valdez be left behind, ‘our Lady ’ and 
the saints, and the Bull Coena Domini (dictated by one whom 
I dare not name here), are with them still, and it were blas- 
phemous to doubt. But in the meanwhile, if they have fared 
no better than this against a third of the Plymouth fleet, how 
will they fare when those forty belated ships, which are already 
whitening the blue between them and the Mewstone, enter the 
scene to play their part ? 

So ends the first day ; not an English ship, hardly a man is 
hurt. It has destroyed forever, in English minds, the prestige 
of boastful Spain. It has justified utterly the policy which the 
good Lord Howard had adopted by Raleigh’s and Drake’s ad- 
vice, of keeping up a running fight, instead of ‘ clapping ships 
together without consideration,’ in which case, says Raleigh, 

‘ he had been lost, if he had not been better advised than a 
great many malignant fools were, who found fault with his 
demeanor.’ 

Be that as it may, so ends the first day, in which Amyas 
and the other Bideford ships have been right busy for two 
hours, knocking holes in a huge galleon, which carries on her 
poop a maiden with a wheel, and bears the name of Sta. Cath- 
arina. She had a coat of arms on the flag at her sprit, prob- 
ably those of the commandant of soldiers ; but they were shot 
away early in the fight, so Amyas cannot tell whether they 
were De Soto’s or not. Nevertheless, there is plenty of time 
for private revenge ; and Amyas, called off at last by the ad- 
miral’s signal, goes to bed and sleeps soundly. 

But ere he has been in his hammock an hour, he is awak- 
ened by Cary’s coming down to ask for orders. 

‘ We were to follow Drake’s lantern, Amyas ; but where it 
is, I can’t see, unless he has been taken up aloft there among 
the stars, for a new Drakium Sidus.’ 

Amyas turns out grumbling ; but no lantern is to be seen ; 
only a sudden explosion and a great fire on board some Span- 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


551 


iard, which is gradually got under, while they have to lie-to the 
whole night long, with nearly the whole fleet. 

The next morning finds them off* Torbay ; and Amyas is 
hailed by a pinnace, bringing a letter from Drake, which (sav- 
ing the spelling, which was somewhat arbitrary, like most men’s 
in those days) ran somewhat thus : — 

‘ Dear Lad, 

‘ I have been wool-gathering all night after five great hulks, 
which the Pixies transfigured overnight into galleons, and this 
morning again into German merchantmen. I let them go, with 
my blessing ; and coming back, fell in (God be thanked !) with 
Valdez’ great galleon ; and in it good booty, which the Dons his 
fellows had left behind, like faithful and valiant comrades, and 
the Lord Howard had let slip past him, thinking her deserted 
by her crew. I have sent to Dartmouth a sight of noblemen 
and gentlemen, maybe a half-hundred ; and Valdez himself, 
who, when I sent my pinnace aboard, must needs stand on his 
punctilios, and propound conditions. I answered him, I had no 
time to tell with him ; if he would needs die, then I was the 
very man for him ; if he would live, then huena querra. He 
sends again, boasting that he was Don Pedro Valdez, and that 
it stood not with his honor, and that of the Dons in his com- 
pany. I replied, that for my part, 1 was Francis Drake, and 
my matches burning. Whereon he finds in my name salve for 
the wounds of his own, and comes aboard, kissing my fist, with 
Spanish lies of holding himself fortunate that he had fallen 
into the hands of fortunate Drake, and much more, which he 
might have kept to cool his porridge. But I have much news 
from him (for he is a leaky tub) ; and among others, this, that 
your Don Guzman is aboard of the Sta. Catharina, commandant 
of her soldiery, and has his arms flying at her sprit, be«side a 
Sta. Catharina at the poop, which is a maiden with a wheel, 
and is a lofty built ship of 3 tier of ordnance, from which God 
preserve you, and send you like luck with 

‘ Your deare Friend and Admirail, 

‘ F. Drake.’ 

‘ She sails in this squadron of Recalde. The Armada was 
minded to smoke us out at Plymouth ; and God’s grace it was 
they tried not: but their orders from home are too strait, and 
so the slaves fight like a bull in a tether, no further than their 
rope, finding thus the devil a hard master, as do most in the 
end. They cannot compass our quick handling and tacking, 
and take us for very witches. So far so good, and better to 


552 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


come. You and I know the length of their foot of old. Time 
and light vvill kill any hare, and they will find it a long way 
from Start to Dunkirk.’ 

‘ The admiral is in gracious humor, Leigh, to have vouchsafed 
you so long a letter.’ 

‘ Sta. Catharine ? why that was the galleon we hammered all 
yesterday ! ’ said Amyas, stamping on the deck. 

‘ Of course it was. Well, we shall find her again, doubt 
not. That cunning old Drake ! how he has contrived to line 
his own pockets, even though he had to keep the whole fleet 
waiting for him.’ 

‘ He has given the Lord High Admiral the dor, at all events.’ 

‘ Lord Howard is too high-hearted to stop and plunder. Papist 
though he is, Amyas.’ 

Amyas answered by a growl, for he worshipped Drake, and 
was not too just to Papists. 

The fleet did not find Lord Howard till nightfall ; he and 
Lord Sheffield had been holding on steadfastly the whole night 
after the Spanish lanterns, with two ships only. At least there 
was no doubt now of the loyalty of English Roman Catholics, 
and, indeed, throughout the fight, the Howards shawed (as if to 
wipe out the slurs which had been cast on their loyalty by 
fanatics) a desperate courage, which might have thrust less 
prudent men into destruction, but led them only to victory. 
Soon a large Spaniard drifts by, deserted and partly burnt. 
Some of the men are for leaving their place to board her; but 
Amyas stoutly refuses. He has ‘ come out to fight, and not to 
plunder; so let the nearest ship to her have her luck without 
grudging.’ They pass on, and the men pull long faces when 
they see the galleon snapped up by their next neighbor, and 
to'wed off to Weymouth, where she proves to be the ship of 
Miguel d’Oquenda, the Vice-Admiral, which they saw last 
night all but blown up by some desperate Netherland gunner, 
who, being ‘ misused,’ was minded to pay off old scores on his 
tyrants. 

And so ends the second day ; while the Portland rises higher 
and clearer every hour. The next morning finds them off the 
island. Will they try Portsmouth, though they have spared 
Plymouth ? The wind has shifted to the north, and blows clear 
and cool off the white-walled downs of Weymouth Bay. The 
Spaniards turn and face the English. They must mean to 
stand off and on until the wind shall change, and then to rry for 
the Needles. At least they shall have some work to do before 
they round Purbeck Isle. 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


553 


The E-nglish go to the westward again : but it is only to 
return on the opposite tack ; and now begin a series of ma- 
noeuvres, each fleet trying to get the wind of the other ; but the 
struggle does not last long, and ere noon the English fleet have 
slipped close-hauled between the Armada and the land, and are 
coming down upon them right before the wind. 

And now begins a fight most fierce and fell. ‘ And fight 
they did confusedly, and with variable fortunes ; while, on the 
one hand, the English manfully rescued the ships of London, 
which were hemmed in by the Spaniards ; and, on the other 
side, the Spaniards as stoutly delivered Recalde, being in dan- 
ger.’ ‘ Never was heard such thundering of ordnance on both 
sides, which, notwithstanding, from the Spaniards flew for the. 
most part over the English without harm. Only Cock, an En- 
glishman ’ (whom Prince claims, I hope rightfully, as a worthy 
of Devon), ‘ died with honor in the midst of the enemies in a 
small ship of his. For the English ships, bsing far the lesser, 
charged the enemy with marvellous agility ; and having dis- 
charged their broadsides, flew forth presently into the deep, 
and levelled their shot directly, without missing, at those great 
and unwieldy Spanish ships.’ ‘ This was the most furious and 
bloody skirmish of all ’ (though ending only, it seems, in the 
capture of a great Venetian and some small craft), ‘ in which 
the Lord Admiral fighting amidst his enemies’ fleet, and seeing 
one of his captains afar off (Fenner by name, he who fought 
the seven Portugals at the Azores), cried, “ O, George, what 
doest thou ? Wilt thou now frustrate my hope and opinion 
conceived of thee ^ Wilt thou forsake me now ” With which 
words, he being enflamed, approached, and did the part of a 
most valiant captain ; ’ as, indeed, did all the rest. 

Night falls upon the floating volcano ; and morning finds 
them far past Purbeck, with the white peak of Freshwater 
ahead ; and pouring out past the Needles, ship after ship, to 
join the gallant chase. For now from all havens, in vessels 
fitted out at their own expense, flock the chivalry of England ; 
the Lords Oxford, Northumberland, and Cumberland, Palla- 
vicin, Brooke, Carew, Raleigh, and Blunt, and many another 
honorable name, ‘ as to a set field, where immortal fame and 
honor was to be attained.’ Spain has staked her chivalry in 
that mighty cast ; not a noble house of Arragon or Castile but 
has lent a brother or a son — and shall mourn the loss of one : 
and England’s gentlemen will measure their strength once for 
all agamst the Cavaliers of Spain. Lord Howard has sent 
forward light craft into Portsmouth for ammunition : .but they 
will scarce return to-night, for the wind falls dead, and all the 
47 


554 


THE great armada. 


evening the two fleets drift helpless with the tide, and shout 
idle defiance at each other with trumpet, fife, and drum. 

The sun goes down upon a glassy sea, and rises on a glassy 
sea again. But what day is this ? The twenty-fifih, St. 
James’s-day, sacred to the patron saint of Spain. Shall nothing 
be attempted in his honor by those whose forefathers have so 
often seen him with their bodily eyes, charging in their van 
upon his snow-white steed, and scattering Paynims with celes- 
tial lance ? He might have sent them, certainly, a favoring 
breeze ; perhaps, he only means to try their faith ; at least, the 
galleys shall attack ; and in their van three of the great gal- 
liasses (the fourth lies half-crippled among the fleet) thrash the 
sea to foam with three hundred oars apiece ; and see, not St. 
James leading them to victory, but Lord Howard’s Triumph, 
his brother’s Lion, Southwell’s Elizabeth Jonas, Lord Sb(‘ffield’s 
Bear, Barker’s Victory^ and George Fenner’s Leicester, towed 
stoutly out, to meet them with such salvos of chain-shot, smash- 
ing oars, and cutting rigging, that had not the wind sprung up 
again toward noon, and the Spanish fleet come up to rescue 
them, they had shared the fate of Valdez and the Biscayan, 
And now the fight becomes general. Frobisher beats down the 
Spanish admiral’s mainmast; and, attacked himself by Mexia 
and Recalde, is rescued by Lord Howard ; who himself endan- 
gered in his turn, is rescued in his turn ; while after that day ’ 
(so sickened were they of the English gunnery), ‘ no galliass 
would adventure to fight.’ 

And so, with variable fortune, the fight thunders on the live- 
long afternoon, beneath the virgin cliffs of Freshwater; while 
myriad sea-fowl rise screaming up from every ledge, and spot 
with their black wings the snow-white wall of chalk ; and the 
lone shepherd hurries down the slopes above to peer over the 
dizzy edge, and forgets the wheatear fluttering in his snare, 
while he gazes trembling upon glimpses of tall masts and gor- 
geous flags, piercing at times the league-broad veil of sulphur- 
smoke which welters far below. 

So fares St. James’s day, as Baal’s did on Carmel in old time. 
‘ Either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is on a journcv ; 
or, peradventure, he sleepei.h, and must be awaked.’ At least, 
the only fire by which he has answered his votaries, has been 
that of English cannon : and the Armada, ‘ gathering itself 
into a roundel,’ will fight no more, but make the best of tts way 
to Calais, where perhaps the Guises’ faction may have a French 
force ready to assist them ; and then to Dunkirk, to join with 
Parma and the great flotilla of the Netherlands. 

So on, before ‘ a fair Etesian gale,’ which follows clear and 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


555 


bright out of the south-south-west, glide forward the two great 
flf^ets, past Brighton Cliffs and Beachy Head, Hastings and 
Dungeness. Is it a battle or a triumph ? For by sea. Lord 
Floward, instead of fighting is rewarding, and after Lord Thomas 
Howard, Lord Sheffield, Townsend, and Frobisher have re- 
ceived at his hands that knighthood, which was then more 
honorable than a peerage, old Admiral Hawkins kneels and 
rises up Sir John, and shaking his shoulders after the accolade, 
observes to the representative of majesty, that his ‘ old woman 
will hardly know herself again, when folks call her My Lady.’ 

And meanwhile the cliffs are lined with pikemen and mus- 
keteers, and by every countryman and groom who can bear 
arms, led by their squires and sheriffs, marching eastward as 
fast as their weapons let them, towards the Dover shore. And 
not with them alone. From many a mile inland come down 
women and children, and aged folk in wagons, to join their 
feeble shouts, and prayers which are not feeble, to that great 
cry of mingled faith and fear which ascends to the throne of 
God from the spectators of Britain’s Salamis. 

Let them pray on. The danger is not over yet, though 
Lord Howard has had news from Newhaven that the Guises 
will not stir against England, and Seymour and Winter have 
left their post of observation on the Flemish shores, to make up 
the number of the fleet to an hundred and forty sail — larger, 
slightly, than that of the Spanish fleet, but of not more than half 
the tonnage, or one-third the number of men. The Spaniards 
are dispirited and battered, but unbroken still; and as they slide 
to their anchorage in Calais Roads on the Saturday evening of 
that most memorable week, all prudent men know well that 
England’s hour is come, and that the bells which will call all 
Christendom to church upon the morrow morn, will be either 
the death-knell or the triumphal peal of the Reformed Faith 
throughout the world. 

A solemn day that Sabbath must have been in country and 
in town. And many a light-hearted coward, doubtless, who had 
scoffed (as many did) at the notion of the Armada’s coming, 
because he dare not face the thought, gave himself up to abject 
fear, ‘ as he now plainly saw and heard that of which before he 
would not be persuaded.’ And many a brave man, too, as he 
knelt beside his wife and daughters, felt his heart sink to the 
very pavement, at the thought of what those beloved ones might 
be enduring a few short days hence, from a profligate and 
fanatical soldiery, or from the more deliberate fiendishness of 
the Inquisition. The massacre of St. Bartholemew, the fires of 


556 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


Smithfield, the immolation of the Moors, the extermination of 
the West Indians, the fantastic horrors of the Piedmontese per- 
secution, which make unreadable the too truthful pages of Mor- 
land — these were the spectres, which, not as now, dim and 
distant through the mist of centuries, but recent, bleeding from 
still gaping wounds, flitted before the eyes of every English- 
man, and filled his heart and brain with fire. 

He knew full well the fate in store for him and his. One 
false step, and the unspeakable doom which, not two generations 
afterwards, befell the Lutherans of Madgeburgh, would have 
befallen every town from London to Carlisle. All knew the 
hazard, as they prayed that day, and many a day before and 
after, throughout England and the Netherlands. And none 
knew it better than she who was the guiding spirit of that de- 
voted land, and the especial mark of the invaders’ fury ; and 
who, by some divine inspiration (as men then not unwisely 
held) devised herself the daring stroke which was to anticipate 
the coming blow. 

But where is Amyas Leigh all this while ? Day after day 
he has been seeking the Sta. Catharina in the thickest of the 
press, and cannot come at her, cannot even hear of her : one 
moment he dreads that she has sunk by night, and balked him 
of his prey ; the next, that she has repaired her damages, and 
will escape him, after all. He is moody, discontented, restless, 
even (for the first time in his life) peevish with his men. He 
can talk of nothing but Don Guzman ; he can find no better 
employment at every spare moment, than taking his sword out 
of the sheath, and handling it, fondling it, talking to it, even 
bidding it not to fail him in the day of vengeance. At last, he 
has sent to Squire, the armorer, for a whetstone, and half- 
ashamed of hfs own folly, whets and polishes it in bye-corners, 
muttering to himself. That one fixed thought of selfish ven- 
geance has possessed his whole mind ; he forgets England’s 
present need, her past triumph, his own safety, everything but 
his brother’s blood. And yet this is the day for which he has 
been longing ever since he brought home that magic horn as a 
fifteen years’ boy ; the day when he should find himself face to 
face with an invader, and that invader Antichrist himself. He 
has believed for years with Drake, Hawkins, Grenvile, and 
Raleigh, that he was called and sent into the world only to fight 
the Spaniard ; and he is fighting him now, in such a cause, for 
such a stake, within such battle-lists, as he will never see 
again ; and yet he is not content ; and while throughout that 
gallant fleet, whole crews are receiving the Communion side by 


i 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


657 


side, and rising with cheerful faces to shake hands, and to re- 
joice that they are sharers in Britain’s Salamis, Amyas turns 
away from the holy elements. 

‘ 1 cannot communicate, Sir John. Charity with all men ! I 
hate, if ever man hated on earth.’ 

‘ You hate the Lord’s foes only, Captain Leigh.’ 

‘ No, Jack, I hate my own as well.’ 

. ‘ But no one in the fleet. Sir ? ’ 

‘ Don’t try to put me off with the same Jesuit’s quibble which 
that false knave Parson Fletcher invented for one of Doughty’s 
men, to drug his conscience withal when he was plotting against 
his own admiral. No, Jack, I hate one of whom you know; 
and somehow that hatred of him keeps me from loving any 
human being. I am in love and charity with no man, Sir John 
Brirnblecombe — not even with you ! Go your ways, in God’s 
name. Sir ! and leave me and the devil alone together, or you’ll 
find my words are true.’. 

Jack departed with a sigh, and while the crew were receiving 
the Communion on deck, Amyas sate below in the cabin 
sharpening his sword, and af’er it, called for a boat and went 
on board Drake’s ship to ask news of the Sta. Catharina, and 
listened scowling to the loud chants and tinkling bells, which 
came across the water from the Spanish fleet. At last, Drake 
was summoned by the Lord Admiral, and. returned with a 
secret commission, which ought to bear fruit that night; and 
Amyas, who had gone with him, helped him till nightfall, and 
then returned to his own ship as Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, 
to the joy and glory of every soul on board, except his moody 
sel f. 

So there, the livelong summer Sabbath-day, before the little 
high-walled town and the long range of yellow sand-hills, lie 
those two mighty armaments, scowling at each other, hardly 
out of guns ot. Messenger after messenger is hurrying towards 
Bruges to the Duke of Parma, for light craft, which can follow 
these nimble English somewhat better than their own floating 
castles; and above all, entreating him to put to sea at once 
with all his force. The duke is not with his forces at Dunkirk, 
but on the future field of Waterloo, paying his devotions to St. 
Mary of Halle in Hainault, in order to make all sure in his 
Pantheon, and already sees in visions of the night that gentle- 
souled and pure-lipped saint. Cardinal Allen, placing the crown 
of England on his head. He returns for answer ; first, that his 
victu il is not ready ; next, that his Dutch sailors, who have 
been kept at their posts for many a week at the sword’s point, 
have run away like water; and thirdly, that, over and above all, 
47 * 


558 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


he cannot come, so ‘ strangely provided of great ordnance and 
musketeers’ are those five-and-thirty Dutch ships, in which 
round-sterned and stubborn-hearted heretics watch, like ter- 
riers at a rat’s hole, the entrance of Nieuwport and Dunkirk. 
Having ensured the private patronage of St. Mary of Halle, he 
will return to-morrow to make experience of its effects : but 
only hear across the flats of Dixmude the thunder of the fleets, 
and at Dunkirk the open curses of his officers. For while he 
has been praying, and nothing more, the English have been 
praying, and something more ; and all that is left for the Prince 
of Parma is, to hang a few purveyors, as peace-offerings to his 
sulking army, and then ‘ chafe,’ as Drake says of him, * like a 
bear robbed of her whelps.’ 

For Lord Henry Seymour has brought Lord Howard a letter 
of command from Elizabeth’s self ; and Drake has been car- 
rying it out so busily all that Sunday long, that by two o’clock 
on the Monday morning, eight fire-ships ‘ besmeared with wild- 
fire, brimstone, pitch, and rosin, and all their ordnance charged 
with bullets and with stones,’ are stealing down the wind 
straight for the Spanish fleet, guided by two valiant men of 
Devon, Young and Prowse. (Let their names live long in the 
land!) The ships are fired, the men of Devon steal back, 
and -in a moment more, the heaven is red with glare from 
Dover cliffs to Gravelines Tower ; and weary-hearted Bel- 
gian boors far away inland, plundered and dragooned for many 
a hideous year, leap from their beds, and fancy (and not so far 
wrongly either) that the day of judgment is come at last, to end 
their woes, and hurl down vengeance on their tyrants. 

And then breaks forth one of those disgraceful panics which 
so often follow overweening presumption; and shrieks, oaths, 
prayers and reproaches, make night hideous. There are those 
too on board who recollect well enough Jenebelli’s fire-ships at 
Antwerp three years before, and the wreck which they made 
of Parma’s bridge across the Scheldt. If these should be like 
them! And cutting allucables, hoisting any sails, the Invinci- 
ble Armada goes lumbering wildly out to sea, every ship foul 
of her neighbor. 

The largest of the four galliasses loses her rudder, and drifts 
helpless to and fro, hindering and confusing. The duke, having 
(so the Spaniards say) weighed his anchor deliberately instead 
of leaving it behind him, runs in again after awhile, and fires a 
signal for return ; but his truant sheep are deaf to the shepherd’s 
pipe, and swearing and praying by turns, he runs up Channel 
towards Gravelines, picking up stragglers on his way, who are 
struggling as they best can among the flats and shallows ; but 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


559 


Drake and Fenner have arrived as soon as he. When Monday’s 
sun rises on the quaint old castle and muddy dikes of Grave- 
lines town, the thunder of the cannon recommences, and is not 
hushed till night. Drake can hang coolly enough in the rear to 
plunder when he thinks fit; but when the battle needs it, none 
can fight more fiercely among the foremost ; and there is need 
now, if ever. That Armada must never be allowed to re-form. 
If it does, its left wing may yet keep the English at bay, while 
its right drives off the blockading Hollanders from Dunkirk port, 
and sets Parma and his flotilla free to join them, and to stfil in 
doubled strength across to the mouth of Thames. 

So Drake has weighed anchor, and away up Channel with 
all his squadron, the moment that he saw the Spanish fleet 
come up ; and with him Fenner, burning to redeem the honor 
which, indeed, he had never lost ; and ere Fenton, Beeston, 
Crosse, Ryman, and Lord Southwell can join them, the Devon 
ships have been worrying the Spaniards for two full hours into 
confusion worse confounded. 

But what is that heavy firing behind them ? Alas for the 
great galliass ! She lies, like a huge stranded whale, upon the 
sands where now stands Calais pier, and Amyas Preston, the 
future hero of La Guayra, is pounding her into submission, 
while a fleet of hoys and drumblers look on and help, as jackals 
might the lion. 

Soon, on the south-west horizon, loom up larger and larger 
two mighty ships, and behind them sail on sail. As they near, 
a shout greets the Triumph and the Bear ; and on and in the 
Lord High Admiral glides stately into the thickest of ‘the 
fight. 

True, we have still but some three-and-twenty ships which 
can cope at all with some ninety of the Spaniards ; but we 
have dash, and daring, and the inspiration of utter need. Now, 
or never, must the mighty struggle be ended. We worried 
them off Portland : we must rend them in pieces now ; and in 
rushes ship after ship, to smash her broadsides through and 
through the wooden onstles, ‘ sometimes not a pike’s length 
asunder,’ and then out again to re-load, and give place mean- 
while to another. The smaller are fighting with all sails set; 
the few larger, who, once in, are careless about coming out 
again, fight with topsails loose, and their main and foreyards 
close down on deck, to prevent being boarded. The duke, 
Oquenda, and Recalde, having with much ado got clear of the 
shallows, bear the brunt of the fight to seaward ; but in vain. 
The day goes against them more and more as it runs on ; Sey- 
mour and Winter have battered the great San Philip into a 


560 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


wreck ; her masts are gone by the board ; Pimentelli in the 
San Matthew comes to take the mastiffs off the fainting bull, 
and finds them fasten on him instead ; but the Evangelist, 
though smaller, is stouter than the Deacon, and of all the shot 
poured into him, not twenty ‘ lackt him thorough.’ His masts 
are tottering : but sink or strike he will not. 

‘ Go ahead, and pound his tough hide, Leigh,’ roars Drake 
off the poop of his ship, while he hammers away at one of the 
great galliasses. ‘ What right has he to keep us all waiting ? ’ 

i^myas slips in as best he can between Drake and Winter; 
as he passes, he shouts to his ancient enemy,— 

‘ We are with you. Sir ; all friends to-day ! ’ and slipping round 
Winter’s bows, he pours his broadside into those of the San 
Matthew, and then glides on, to re-load ; but not to return. 
For not a pistol-shot to leeward, worried by three or four 
small craft, lies an immense galleon ; and on her poop — can 
he believe his eyes for joy.? — the maiden and the wheel he 
has sought so long ! 

‘ There he is !’ shouts Amyas, springing to the starboard side 
of the ship. The men, too, have already caught sight of that 
hated sign ; a cheer of fury bursts from every throat. 

‘ Steady, men ! ’ says Amyas, in a suppressed voice. ‘ Not a 
shot ! Re-load, and be ready : 1 must speak with him first;’ and 
silent as the grave, amid the infernal din, the Vengeance glides 
up to the Spaniard’s quarter. 

‘ Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto ! ’ shouts 
Amyas, from the mizzen rigging, loud and clear amid the roar. 

He has not called in vain. Fearless and graceful as ever, 
the tall mail-clad figure of his foe leaps up upon the poop-rail- 
ing, twenty feel above Amyas’s head, and shouts through his 
visor, — 

‘ At your service. Sir ! whosoever you may be.’ 

A dozen muskets and arrows are levelled at him : but Amyas 
frowns them down. No man strikes him but 1. Spare him, if 
you kill every other soul on board. Don Guzman ! I am 
Captain Sir Amyas Leigh : I proclairh you a traitor and a 
ravisher, and challenge you once more to single combat, when 
and w lie re you will.’ 

‘ You are welcome to come on board me. Sir,’ answers the 
Spaniard in a clear, quiet tone : ‘ bringing with you this answer, 
that you lie in your throat;’ and lingering a moment out of 
bravado, to arrange his scarf, he steps slowly down again be- 
hind the bulwarks. 

‘ Coward ! ’ shouts Amyas at the lop of his voice. 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


561 


‘ The Spaniard re-appears instantly. ‘ Why that name, Senor, 
of all others ? ’ asks he in a cool, stern voice. 

‘ Because we call men cowards in England, who leave their 
wives to be burnt alive by priests.’ 

The moment the words had past Amyas’s lips, he felt that 
they were cruel and unjust. But it was too late to recall them. 
The Spaniard started ; clutched his sword-hilt; and then hissed 
back through his closed visor, — 

‘ For that word, sirrah, you hang at my yard-arm, if Saint 
Mary gives me grace.’ 

‘ See that your halter be a silken one, then,’ laughed Amyas, 
‘ for I am just dubbed knight.’ And he stepped down, as a storm 
of bullets rang through the rigging round his head ; the Spaniards 
are not as punctilious as he. 

‘ Fire ! ’ His ordnance crash through the sternworks of the 
Spaniard ; and then he sails onward, while her balls go hum- 
ming harmlessly through his rigging. 

‘ Half-an-hour has passed of wild noise and fury ; three times 
has the Vengeance, as a dolphin might, sailed clean round and 
round the Sta. Catharina, pouring in broadside after broadside, 
till the guns are leaping to the deck-beams with their own heat, 
and the Spaniard’s sides are slit and spotted in a hundred places. 
And yet so high has been his fire in return, and so strong the 
deck-defences of the Vengeance, that a few spars broken, and 
two or three men wounded by musketry, are all her loss. But 
still the Spaniard endures, magnificent as ever ; it is the battle 
of the thresher and the whale ; the end is certain, but the work 
is long. 

‘ Can I help you. Captain Leigh ? ’ asks Lord Henry Seymour, 
as he passes within oar’s length of him, to attack a ship ahead. 
‘ The San Matthew has had his dinner, and is gone on to Medina 
to ask for a digestive to it.’ 

‘ I thank your Lordship ; but this is my private quarrel of 
which I spoke. But if your Lordship could lend me powder, — ’ 

‘ Would that I could ! But, so I fear, says every other gen- 
tleman in the fleet.’ 

A puff of wind clears away the sulphureous veil for a moment ; 
the sea is clear of ships towards the land ; the Spanish fleet is 
moving again up Channel, Medina bringing up the rear; only 
some two miles to their right hand, the vast hull of the San 
Philip is drifting up the shore with the tide, and somewhat 
near, the San Matthew is hard at work at her pumps. They 
can see the white stream of water pouring down her side. 

‘ Go in, my Lord, and have the pair,’ shouts Amyas. 

‘ No, Sir ! Forward is a Seymour’s cry. We will leave them 


562 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


to pay the Flushinger’s expenses.’ And on went Lord Henry, 
and on shore went the San Philip at Ostend, to be plundered by 
tlie Flushingers ; while the San Matthew, whose captain, ‘ on a 
hault courage,’ had refused to save himself and his gentlemen 
on board Medina’s ship, went blundering miserably into the 
hungry mouths of Captain Peter Vanderduess, and four other 
valiant Dutchmen, who, like prudent men of Holland, contrived 
to keep the galleon afloat till they had emptied her, and then 
‘ hung up her banner in the great church of Leyden, being of 
such a length, that being fastened to the roof, it reached unto 
the very ground.’ 

But in the meanwhile, long ere the sun had set, comes down 
the darkness of the thunder-storm, attracted, as to a volcano’s 
mouth, to that vast mass of sulphur-smoke which cloaks the sea 
for many a mile ; and heaven’s artillery above makes answer 
to man’s below. But still through smoke and rain, Amyas 
clings to his prey. She too has seen the northward movement 
of the Spanish fleet, and sets her topsails; Amyas calls to the 
men to fire high, and cripple her rigging ; but in vain ; for three 
or four belated galleys, having forced their way at last over the 
shallows, come flashing and sputtering up to the combatants, 
and takes his fire off the galleon. Amyas grinds his teeth, and 
would -fain hustle into the thick of the press once more, in spite 
of the galleys’ beaks. 

‘ Most heroical Captain,’ says Cary, pulling a long face ; ‘ if 
we do, we are stove and sunk in five minutes ; not to mention 
that Yeo says he has not twenty rounds of great cartridge left.’ 

So, surely and silent, the Vengeance sheers ofT, but keeps 
as near as she can to the little squadron, all througli the night 
of rain and thunder which follows. Next morning, the sun rises 
on a clear sky, with a strong west-north-west breeze, and all 
hearts are asking what the day will bring forth. , • 

They are long past Dunkirk now ; the German Ocean is 
opening before them. The Spaniards, sorely battered, and 
lessened in numbers, have, during the night, regained some 
sort of order. The English hang on their skirts a mile or two 
behind. They have no ammunition, and must wait for more. 
To Amyas’s great disgust, the Sta. Catharina has rejoined her 
fellows during the night. 

Never mind,’ said Cary ; ‘ she can neither dive nor fly, and 
as long as she is above water, we — What is the admiral about ? ’ 

He is signaling Lord Henry Seymour and his squadron. 
Soon they tack, and come down the wind for the coast of Flan- 
ders. Parma must be blockaded still; and the Hollanders are 
likely to be too busy with their plunder to do it effectually, 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


563 


Suddenly there is a stir in the Spanish fleet. Medina and the 
rearmost ships turn upon the English. What can it mean ? 
Will they oflfer battle once more ? If so, it were best to get 
out of their way, for we have nothing wherewith to fight them. 
So the English lie close to the wind. They will let them pass, 
and return to their old tactic of following and harassing. 

‘ Good-bje to Seymour,’ says Cary, ‘ if he is caught between 
them and Parma’s flotilla. They are going to Dunkirk.’ 

‘Impossible! They will not have water enough to reach 
his light craft. Here comes a big ship right upon us! Give 
him all you have left, lads ; and if he will fight us, lay him 
alongside, and die boarding.’ 

They gave him what they had, and hulled him with every 
shot ; but his huge side stood silent as the grave. He had not 
wherewithal to return the compliment. 

‘ As 1 live he is cutting loose the foot of his mainsail ! the 
villain means to run.’ 

‘ There go the rest of them ! Victoria ! ’ shouted Cary, as 
one after another, every Spaniard set all the sail he could. 

There was silence for a few minutes throughout the English 
fleet ; and then cheer upon cheer of triumph rent the skies. It 
was over ! The Spaniard had refused battle, and thinking only of 
safety, was pressing downward toward the Straits again. The 
Invincible Armada had cast away its name, and England was 
saved. 

‘ But he will never get there. Sir,’ said old Yeo, who had 
^come upon deck to murmur his Nunc Domine, and gaze upon 
that sight beyond all human faith or hope: ‘never, never, will 
he weather the Flanders shore, against such a breeze as is coming 
up. Look to the eye of the wind. Sir, and see how the Lord is 
fighting for His people ! ’ 

Yes, down it came, fresher and stifler every minute out of the 
gray north-west, as it does so often after a thunder-storm ; and 
the sea began to rise high and white under the Claro Aquilone,’ 
till the Spaniards were fain to take in all spare canvas, and 
lie-to as best they could ; while the English fleet, lying-to also, 
awaited an event which was in God’s hands and not in theirs. 

‘ 'I'hey wdl be all ashore on Zealand before the afternoon,’ 
murmured Amyas ; ‘and I have lost my labor! Oh, for 
powder, powder, powder ! to go in and finish it at once ! ’ 

‘ Oh, Sir,’ said Yeo, ‘ don’t murmur against the Lord in the 
very day of His mercies. It is hard, to be sure ; but His will 
be done.’ 

‘ Could we not borrow powder from Drake there ? ’ 

‘ Look at the sea, Sir ! ’ 


564 


THE GREAT ARMADA. 


And, indeed, the sea was far too rough for any such attempt. 
The Spaniards neared and neared the fatal downs, which 
fringed the shore for many a dreary mile; and Amyas had to 
wait weary hours, growling like a dog who has had the bone 
snatched out of his mouth, till the day wore on ; when, behold, 
the wind began to fall as rapidly as it had risen. A savage 
joy rose in Amyas’s heart. 

‘ They are safe ! safe for us ! Who will go and beg us pow- 
der ? A cartridge here and a cartridge there ? — anything to 
set to work again ! ’ 

Cary volunteered, and returned in a couple of hours with 
some quantity ; but he was on board again only just in time, 
for the south-wester had recovered the mastery of the skies, 
and Spaniards and English were moving away ; but this time 
northward. Whither now ? To Scotland ? Amyas knew not, 
and cared not, provided he was in the company of Don Guz- 
man de Soto. 

The Armada was defeated, and England saved. But such 
great undertakings seldom end in one grand rnelo-dramatic 
explosion of fireworks through which the devil arises in full 
roar to drag Dr. Faustus for ever into the flaming pit. On the 
contrary, the devil stands by his servants to the last, and tries 
to bring off his shattered forces with drums beating and colors 
flying ; and, if possible, to lull his enemies into supposingHhat 
the fight is ended, long before it really is half over. All which 
the good Lord Howard of Effingham knew well, and knew, 
too, that Medina had one last card to play, and that was the 
filial affection of that dutiful and chivalrous son, James of Scot- 
land. True, he had promised faith to Elizabeth ; but that was 
no reason why he should keep it. He had been hankering and 
dabbling after Spain for years past, for its absolutism was dear 
to his inmost soul ; and Queen Elizabeth had had to warn him, 
scold him, call him a liar, for so doing ; so the Armada might 
still find shelter and provision in the Frith of Forth. But 
whether Lord Howard knew or not, Medina did not know, that 
Elizabeth had played her card cunningly, in the shape of one 
of those appeals to the purse, which, to James’s dying day, 
overweighed all others, save appeals to his vanity. ‘ The title 
of a dukedom in England, a yearly pension of 5,000Z., a guard 
at the Queen’s charge, and other matters’ (probably more 
hounds and deer), had steeled the heart of the King of Scots, 
and sealed the Frith of Forth. Nevertheless, as I say, Lord 
Howard, like the rest of Elizabeth’s heroes, trusted James 
just as much as James trusted others; and therefore thought 
good to escort the Armada until it was safely past the domains 


1THE GREAT ARMADA. 


565 


of that most chivalrous and truthful Solomon. But on the 4th 
of August, his fears, such as they were, were laid to rest. The 
Spaniards left the Scottish coast, and sailed away for_Norway ; 
and the game was played out, and the end was come, as the 
end of such matters generally come, by gradual decay, petty 
disaster and mistake ; till the snow-mountain, instead of being 
blown tragically and heroically to atoms, melts helplessly and 
pitiably away. 


48 


566 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

HOW AMYAS THREW HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 

* Full fathom deep thy father lies; 

Of his bones are corals made; 

Those are pearls which were his eyes j 
Nothing of him that doth fade, 

But doth suffer a sea change 
_ . Into something rich and strange; 

Fairies hourly ring his knell, 

Hark! I hear them. Ding dong bell.’ 

The Tempest. 

Yes, it is over; and the great Armada is vanquished. It is 
lulled for awhile, the everlasting war which is in heaven, the 
battle of Iran and Turan, of the children of light and of darkness, 
of Michael and his angels against Satan and his fiends ; the 
battle which slowly and seldom, once in the course of many 
centuries, culminates and ripens into a day of judgment, and 
becomes palpable and incarnate ; no longer a mere spiritual 
fight, but one of flesh and blood, wherein simple men may 
choose their sides without mistake, and help God’s cause. not 
merely with prayer and pen, but with sharp shot and cold steel. 
A day of judgment has come, which has divided the light from 
the darkness, and the sheep from the goats, and tried each 
man’s work by the fire ; and, behold, the devil’s work, like its 
maker, is proved to have been, as always, a lie and a sham, 
and a windy boast, a bladder which collapses at the merest 
pin-prick. Byzantine empires, Spanish Armadas, triple- 
crowned Papacies, Russian Despotisms, this is the way of them, 
and will be to the end of the world. One brave blow at the big 
bullying phantom, and it vanishes in sulphur-stench ; while the 
children of Israel, as of old, see the Egyptians dead on the 
sea-shore, — they scarce know how, save that God has done it, 
— and sing the song of Moses and of the Lamb. 

And now, from England and the Netherlands, from Germany 
and Geneva, and those poor Vaudois shepherd-saints, whose 
bones for generations past 

‘ Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; * 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


567 


to be, indeed, the seed of the Church, and a germ of new life, 
liberty, and civilization, even in these very days returning good 
for evil to that Piedmont which has hunted them down like the 
partridges on the mountains; — from all of Europe, from all 
of mankind, I had almost said, in which lay the seed of future 
virtue and greatness, of the destinies of the new discovered 
world, and the triumphs of the coming age of science, arose a 
shout of holy joy, such as the world had not heard for many a 
weary and bloody century ; a shout which was the prophetic 
birth-paean of North America, Australia, New Zealand, the 
Pacific Islands, of free commerce and free colonization over the 
whole earth. 

‘There was in England, by the commandment of her Ma- 
jesty,’ says Van Meteran ; ‘and likewise in the United Provin- 
ces, by the direction of the Slates, a solemn festival day 
publicly appointed, wherein all persons were solemnly enjoined 
to resort unto y® Church, and there to render thanks and praises 
unto God, and y® preachers were commanded to exhort y® peo- 
ple thereunto. The aforesaid solemnity was observed upon 
the 29th of November ; which day was wholly spent in fasting, 
prayer, and giving of thanks. 

‘ Likewise the Queen’s Majesty herself, imitating y® ancient 
Romans, rode into London in triumph, in regard of her own 
and her subjects glorious deliverance for being attended upon 
very solemnly by all y® principal estates and officers of her realm. 
She was carried through her said city of London, in a triumph- 
ant Chariot, and in robes of triumph, from her Palace unto y® said 
Cathedral Church of Saint Paul, out of y® which y® Ensigns and 
Colours of y® vanquished Spaniards hung displayed. And all y® 
Citizens of London, in their liveries, stood on either side y® street, 
by their several Companies, with their ensigns and banners, 
and the streets were hanged on both sides with blue Cloth, 
which, together with y® foresaid banners, yielded a very stately 
and gallant prospect. Her Majestie being entered into y® Church 
together with her Clergy and Nobles, gave thanks unto God, and 
caused a public Sermon to be preached before her at Paul’s 
Cross; wherein none other argument was handled, but that 
praise, honor, and glory might be rendered unto God, and that 
God’s name might be extolled by thanksgiving. And with her 
own princely voice she most Christianly exhorted y® people to 
do y® same ; whereunto y® people, with a loud acclamation, 
wished her a most long and happy life to y® confusion of her foes.’ 

Yes, as the medals struck on the occasion said, ‘ It came, it 
saw, and it fled ! ’ And whither .? , Away and northward, like 
a herd of frightened deer, past the Orkneys and Shetlands, 


568 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


catching up a few hapless fishermen as guides, past the coast of 
Norway, there, too, refused water and food by the brave de- 
scendants of the Vikings; and on northward ever towards the 
lonely Faroes, and the everlasting dawn which heralds round 
the Pole the midnight sun. 

Their water is failing; the cattle must go overboard; and 
the wild northern sea echoes to the shrieks of drowning horses. 
They must homeward at least, somehow, each as best he can. 
Let them meet again at Cape Finisterre, if indeed they ever 
meet. Medina Sidonia, with some five-and-twenty of the 
soundest and best victualled ships, will lead the way, and leave 
the rest to their fate. He is soon out of sight ; and forty more, 
the only remnant of that mighty host, come wandering wearily 
behind, hoping to make the south-west coast of Ireland, and 
have help, or, at least, fresh water there, from their fellow 
Romanists. Alas, for them ! — 

‘ Make Thou their way dark and slippery. 

And follow them up ever with Thy storm.* 

For now comes up from the Atlantic, gale on gale : and few 
of that hapless remnant reached the shores of Spain. 

And where are Amyas and the Vengeance all this while ? 

At the fifty-seventh degree of latitude, the English fleet, 
finding themselves growing short of provision, and having been 
long since outof powder and ball, turned southward toward home, 

‘ thinking it best to leave the Spaniard to those uncouth and 
boisterous northern seas.’ A few pinnaces are still sent onward 
to watch their course ; and the English fleet, caught in the 
same storms which scattered the Spaniards, ‘ with great danger 
and industry reach Harwich port, and there provide them- 
selves of victuals and ammunition,’ in case the Spaniard should 
return : but there is no need for that caution. Parma, indeed, 
who cannot believe that the idol at Halle, after all his compli- 
ments to it, will play him so scurvy a trick, will watch for 
weeks on Dunkirk downs, hoping against hope for the Armada’s 
return, casting anchors, and spinning rigging to repair their 
losses. 

* But lang lang may his ladies sit. 

With their fans intill their hand, 

Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
Come sailing to the land. ’ 

The Armada is far away on the other side of Scotland, and 
Amyas is following in its wake. 

For when the Lord High Admiral determined to return, 
Amyas asked leave to follow the Spaniard ; and asked, too, of 
Sir John Hawkins, who happened to be at hand, such ammuni- 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


569 


tion and provision as could be afforded him, promising to repay 
the same like an honest man, out of his plunder if he lived, 
out of his estate if he died ; lodging for that purpose bills in the 
hands of Sir John, who, as a man of business, took them, and 
put them in his pocket among the thimbles, string, and tobacco ; 
after which Amyas, calling his men together, reminded them 
once more of the story of the Rose of Torridge and Don Guz- 
man de Soto, and then asked, — 

‘ Men of Bideford, will you follow me ? There will be plun- 
der for those who love plunder; revenge for those who love 
revenge ; and for all of us (for we all love honor) the honor of 
having never left the chase as dong as there was a Spanish flag 
in English seas.’ 

And every soul on board replied, that they would follow Sir 
Amyas Leigh around the world. 

There is no need for me to detail every incident of that long 
and weary chase ; how they found the Sta. Catharina, attacked 
her, and had to sheer off, she being rescued by the rest ; how 
when Medina’s squadron left the crippled ships behind, they 
were all but taken or sunk, by thrusting into the midst of the 
Spanish fleet to prevent her escaping with Medina ; how they 
crippled her, so that she could not beat to windward out into 
the ocean, but was fain to run south, past the Orkneys, and 
down through the Minch, between Cape Wrath and Lewis ; how 
the younger hands were ready to mutiny, because Amyas, in his 
stubborn haste, ran past two or three noble prizes which were 
all but disabled, among others, one of 'the great galliasses, and 
the two great Venetians, La Ratta and La Belanzara, which were 
afterwards, with more than thirty other vessels, wrecked on the 
west coast of Ireland ; how he got fresh water, in spite of cer- 
tain ‘ Hebridean Scots ’ of Skye, who, after reviling him in an 
unknown tongue, fought with him awhile, and then embraced 
him and his men with howls of affection, and were not much 
more decently clad, nor more civilized, than his old friends of 
California ; how he pacified his men by letting them pick the 
bones of a great Venetian which was going on shore upon Islay 
(by which they got booty enough to repay them for the whole 
voyage), and offended them again by refusing to land and 
plunder two great Spanish wrecks on the Mull of Cantire (whose 
crew, by the bye, James tried to smu'ggle off secretly into Spain 
in ships of his own, wishing to play, as usual, both sides of the 
game at once ; but the Spaniards were stopped at Yarmouth 
till the council’s pleasure was known — which was, of course, 
to let the poor wretches go on their way, and be hanged else- 
where) ; how they passed a strange island, half black, half 


570 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


white, which the wild people called Eaghery, but Cary chris- 
tened it ‘ the drowned magpie ; ’ how the Sta. Catharina was 
near lost on the Isle of Man, and then put into Castleton (where 
the Manx-men slew a whole boat’s-crew with their arrows), and 
then put out again, when Amyas fought with her a whole day, 
and shot away her main-yard : how the Spaniard blundered 
down the coast of Wales, not knowing whither he went ; how 
they were both nearly lost on Holyhead, and again on Bardsey 
Island ; how they got on a lee shore in Cardigan Bay, before a 
heavy westerly gale, and the Sta. Catharina ran aground on 
Sarn David, one of those strange subaqueous pebble-dykes 
which are said to be the remnants of the lost land of Gwalior, 
destroyed by the carelessness of Prince Seithenin the drunkard, 
at whose name each loyal Welshman spits ; how she got off 
again at the rising of the tide, and fought with Amyas a fourth 
time ; how the wind changed, and she got round St. David’s 
head ; — these, and many more moving accidents of this event- 
ful voyage, I must pass over without details, and go on to the 
end ; for it is time that the end should come. 

It was now the sixteenth day of the chase. They had seen, 
the evening before, St. David’s head, and then the Welsh coast 
round Milford Haven, looming out black and sharp before the 
blaze of the inland thunder-storm ; and it had lightened all 
round them during the fore part of the night, upon a light south- 
western breeze. 

In vain they had strained their eyes through the darkness, to 
catch, by the fitful glare of the flashes, the tall masts of the 
Spaniard. Of one thing at least they were certain, that with the 
wind as it was, she could not have gone far to the westward ; 
and to attempt to pass them again, and go to northward, was 
more than she dare do. She was probably lying-to ahead of 
them, perhaps between them and the land ; and when, a little 
after midnight, the wind chopped up to the west, and blew stiffly 
till day-break, they felt sure that, unless she had attempted the 
desperate expedient of running past them, they had her safe in 
the mouth of the Bristol Channel. Slowly and wearily broke 
the dawn, on such a day as often follows heavy thunder; a sun- 
less, drizzly day, roofed with low dingy cloud, barred, and net- 
ted, and festooned with black, a sign that the storm is only taking 
breath awhile before it btrrsts again ; while all the narrow hori- 
zon is dim and spongy with vapor drifting before a chilly breeze. 
As the day went on, the breeze died down, and the sea fe|l to a 
long glassy foam-flecked roll, while overhead brooded the inky 
sky, and round them the leaden mist shut out alike the shore and 
the chase. 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


571 


Amyas paced the sloppy deck fretfully and fiercely. He 
knew that the Spaniard could not escape ; but he cursed every 
moment which lingered between him and that one great revenge 
which blackened all his soul. The men sate sulkily about the 
deck and whistled for a wind ; the sails flapped idly against the 
masts ; and the ship rolled in the long troughs of the sea, till her 
yard-arms almost dipped right and left. 

‘ Take care of those guns. You will have something loose 
next,’ growled Amyas. 

‘ We will take care of the guns, if the Lord will take care of 
the wind,’ said Yeo. 

‘ We shall have plenty before night,’ said Cary, ‘ and thunder 
too.’ 

‘ So much the better,’ said Amyas. ‘ It may roar till it splits 
the heavens, if it does but let me get my work done.’ 

‘ He’s not far off, I warrant,’ said Cary. ‘ One lift of the 
cloud, and we should see him.’ 

‘ To wdndward of us, as likely as not,’ said Amyas. ‘The 
devil fights for him, I believe. To have been on his heels six- 
teen days, and not sent this through him yet ! ’ And he shook 
his sword impatiently. 

So the morning wore away, without a sign of living thing, 
not even a passing gull ; and the black melancholy of the heavens 
reflected itself in the black melancholy of Amyas. Was he to 
lose his prey, after all ? The thought made him shudder with 
rage and disappointment? It was intolerable. Anything but that. 

‘ No, God ! ’ he cried, ‘ let me but once feel this in his 
accursed heart — and then strike me dead, if thou wilt!’ 

‘ The Lord have mercy on us,’ cried John Brirnblecombe. 
‘ What have you said ? ’ 

‘ What is that to you, Sir.^ There, they are piping to dinner. 
Go down. I shall not come.’ 

And Jack went down, and talked in a half-terrified whisper, 
of Amyas’s ominous words. 

All thought that they portended some bad luck, except old Yeo. 

‘ \V' ell. Sir John,’ said he, ‘ and why not ? What better can 
the Lord do for a man, than take him home when he has done 
His work ? Our Captain is wilful and spiteful, and must needs 
kill his man himself; while for me, I don’t care how the Don 
goes, provided he does go. I owe him no grudge, nor any 
man. May the Lord give him repentance, and forgive him all 
his sins ; but if I could but see him once safe ashore, as he may 
be ere nightfall, on the Mortestone or the back of Lundy, 1 
would say, “ Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,” 
even if it were the lightning which was sent to fetch me,’ 


572 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


‘ But, master Yeo, a sudden death ? ’ 

‘ And why not a sudden death, Sir John ? Even fools long 
for a short life and a merry one, and shall not the Lord’s people 
pray for a short death and a merry one ? Let it come as it will' 
to old Yeo. Hark ! there’s the Captain’s voice ! ’ 

‘ Here she is ! ’ thundered Amyas from the deck ; and in an 
instant all were scrambling up the hatchway as fast as the 
frantic rolling of the ship would let them. 

Yes. There she was. The cloud had lifted suddenly, and 
to the south a ragged bore of blue sky let a long stream of sun- 
shine down on her tall masts and stately hull, as she lay rolling 
some four or five miles to the eastward ; but as for land, none 
was to be seen. 

‘ There she is ; and here we are ; ’ said Cary ; ‘ but where is 
here and where is there ? How is the tide, master ? ’ 

‘ Running up Channel by this time. Sir.’ 

‘What matters the tide?’ said Amyas, devouring the ship 
with terrible and cold blue eyes. ‘ Can’t we get at her ? ^ 

‘ Not unless some one jumps out and shoves behind,’ said 
Cary. ‘ I shall down again and finish that mackerel, if this roll 
has not chucked it to the cockroaches under the table.’ 

' ‘Don’t jest. Will! 1 can’t stand it,’ said Amyas, in a voice 
which quivered so much that Cary looked at him. His whole 
frame was trembling like an aspen. Cary took his arm, and 
drew him aside. 

‘ Dear old lad,’ said he, as they leaned over the bulwarks, 
‘ what is this .? You are not yourself, and have not been these 
four days.’ 

‘No. I am not Amyas Leigh. I am my brother’s avenger. 
Do not reason with me. Will ; when it is over, I shall be merry 
old Amyas again,’ and he passed his hand over his brow. 

‘ Do you believe,’ said he, after a moment, ‘ that men can be 
possessed by devils.? ’ 

‘ The Bible says so.’ 

‘ If my cause were not a just one, I should fancy I had a 
devil in me. My throat and heart are as hot as the pit. Would 
to God it were done, for done it must be ! Now go.’ 

Cary went away with a shudder. As he past down the hatch- 
way he looked back. Amyas had got the hone out of his pocket, 
and was whetting away again at his sword-edge, as if there 
was some dreadful doom on him, to whet, and whet for ever. 

The weary day wore on. The strip of blue sky was cur- 
tained over again, and all was dismal as before, though it grew 
sultrier every moment ; and now and then a distant mutter 
shook the airTo westward. Nothing could be done to lessen 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


573 


the distance between the ships, for the Vengeance had all her 
boats carried away but one, and that was much too small to 
tow her; and while the men went down again to finish dinner, 
Amyas worked on at his sword, looking up every now and 
then suddenly at the Spaniard, as if to satisfy himself that it 
was not a vision which had vanished. 

About two Yeo came up to him. 

‘ He is ours safely now, Sir. The tide has been running to 
the eastward for this two hours.’ 

‘ Safe as a fox in a trap. Satan himself cannot take him 
from us ! ’ 

‘ But God may,’ said Brimblecombe, simply. 

‘Who spoke to you. Sir.? If I thought that He — There 
comes the thunder at last ! ’ 

And as he spoke, an angry growl from the westward 
heavens seemed to answer his wild words, and rolled and loud- 
ened nearer and nearer, till right over their heads it crashed 
against some cloud-cliff far above, and all was still. 

Each man looked in the other’s face : but Arnyas was un-; 
moved. 

‘ The storm is coming,’ said he, ‘ and the wind in it. It will 
be Eastward-ho now, for once, my merry men all !’ 

‘ Eastward-ho never brought us luck,’ said Jack in an under 
tone to Cary. But by this time all eyes were turned to the 
north-west, where a black line along the horizon began to de- 
fine the boundary of sea and air, till now all dim in mist. 

‘ There comes the breeze.’ 

‘ And there the storm, too.’ 

And with that strangely accelerating pace which some storms 
seem to possess, the thunder, which had been growling slow 
and seldom far away, now rang peal on peal along the cloudy 
floor above their heads. 

‘ Here comes the breeze. Round with the yards, or we shall 
be taken aback.’ 

The yards creaked round ; the sea grew crisp around them ; 
the hot air swept their cheeks, tightened every rope, filled 
every sail, bent her over. A cheer burst from the men as ihe 
helm went up, and they staggered away before the wind right 
down upon the Spaniard, who lay still becalmed. 

‘ There is more behind, Amyas,’ said Cary. ‘ Shall we not 
shorten sail a little .? ’ 

‘ No. Hold on every stitch,’ said Amyas. ‘ Give me the 
helm, man. Boatswain, pipe away to clear for fight.’ 

ft was done, and in ten minutes the men were all at quarters, 
while the thunder rolled louder and louder overhead, and the 
breeze freshened fast. 


574 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


‘ The dog has it now. There he goes ! ’ said Cary. 

‘ Right before the wind. He has no liking to face us.’ 

‘ He is running into the jaws of destruction,’ said Yeo. ‘ An 
hour more will send him either right up the Channel, or smack 
on shore somewhere.’ 

‘ There ! he has put his helm down. I wonder if he sees 
land ? ’ 

‘ He is like a March hare beat out of his country,’ said Cary, 
‘ and don’t know whither to run ne.xt.’ 

Cary was right. In ten minutes more the Spaniard fell off 
again, and went away dead down wind, while the Vengeance 
gained on him fast. xVfter two hours more, the four miles had 
diminished to one, while the lightning flashed nearer and nearer 
as the storm came up ; and from the vast mouth of a black 
cloud-arch poured so fierce a breeze, that Amyas yielded un- 
willingly to hints which were growing into open murmurs, and 
bade shorten sail. 

On they rushed with scarcely lessened speed, the black arch 
following fast, curtained by one flat gray sheet of pouring rain, 
before which the water was boiling in a long white line ; while 
every moment, behind the watery veil, a keen blue spark leapt 
down into the sea, or darted zigzag through the rain. 

‘ We shall have it now, and with a vengeance ; this will try 
your tackle, master,’ said Cary. 

The functionary answered with a shrug, and turned up the 
collar of his rough frock, as the first drops flew .stinging round 
his ears. Another minute, and the squall burst full upon them 
in rain which cut like hail, — hail which lashed the sea into froth, 
and wind which whirled off the heads of the surges, and swept 
the waters into one white seething waste. And above them, 
and behind them, and before them, the lightning leapt and ran, 
dazzling and blinding, while the deep roar of the thunder was 
changed to sharp ear-piercing cracks. 

‘ Get the arms and ammunition under cover, and then below 
with you all,’ shouted Amyas, from the helm. 

‘ And heat the pokers in the galley fire,’ said Yeo, ‘ to be 
ready if the rain puts our linstocks out. I hope you’ll let me 
stay on deck, Sir, in case — ’ 

‘ I must have some one, and who better than you ? Can you 
see the chase ? ’ 

No ; she was wrapped in the gray whirlwind. She might 
be within half a mile of them, for aught they could have seen 
of her. 

And now Amyas and his old liegeman were alone. Neither 
spoke; each knew the other’s thoughts, and' knew that they 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


575 


were his own. The squall blew fiercer and fiercer, the rain 
poured heavier and heavier. Where was the Spaniard ? 

‘ If he has laid-to, we may overshoot him, Sir ! ’ 

‘ If he has tried to lay-to, he will not have a sail left in the 
bolt-ropes, or perhaps a mast on deck. 1 know the stiff-necked- 
ness of those Spanish tubs. Hurrah ! there he is, right on our 
larboard bow ! ’ • 

There she was, indeed, two musket-shots’ off, staggering 
away with canvas split and flying. ^ 

‘ He has been trying to hull. Sir, and caught a buffet,’ said 
Yeo, rubbing his hands. ‘ What shall we do now ? ’ 

‘Range alongside, if it blow live imps and witches, and try 
our luck once more. Pah ! how this lightning dazzles ! ’ 

On they swept, gaining fast on the Spaniard. 

‘ Call the men up and to quarters ; the rain will be over in 
ten minutes.’ 

Yeo ran forward to the gangway : and sprang back again, 
with a face white and wild — 

‘ Land right a-head ! Port your helm. Sir ! For the love of 
God, port your helm ! ’ 

Amyas, with the strength of a bull, jammed the helm down, 
while Yeo shouted to the men below. 

She swung round. The masts bent like whips; crack went 
the foresail, like a cannon. What matter ? Within two hun- 
dred yards of them was the Spaniard ; in front of her, and 
above her, a huge dark bank rose through the dense hail, and 
mingled with the clouds ; and at its foot, plainer every moment, 
pillars and spouts of leaping foam. 

‘ What is it ? Morte ? Hartland ? 

It might be anything for thirty miles, 

‘ Lundy ! ’ said Yeo. ‘ The south end ! I see the head of 
the Shutter in the breakers ! Hard a-port yet, and get her 
close-hauled as you can, and the Lord .may have mercy on us 
still ! Look at the Spaniard ! ’ 

Yes, look at the Spaniard ! 

On their left hand, as they broached-to, the wall of granite 
sloped down from the clouds towards an isolated piece of rock, 
some two hundred feet in height. Then a hundred yards of 
roaring breaker upon a sunken shell, across which the race of 
the tide poured like a cataract; then, amid a column of salt 
smoke, the Shutter, like a huge black fang, rose, waiting for its 
prey ; and between the Shutter and the land, the great galleon 
loomed dimly through the storm. 

He, too, had seen his danger, and tried to broach-to. But 


576 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


his clumsy mass refused to obey the helm ; he struggled a 
moment, half hid in foam ; fell away again, and rushed upon 
his doom. 

‘ Lost ! lost ! lost ! ’ cried Arnyas, madly, and throwing up 
his hands, let go the tiller. Yeo caught it just in time. 

‘ Sir ! Sir ! What are you at ? We shall clear the rock yet.’ 

‘ Yes ! ’ shouted Arnyas, in his frenzy ; ‘ but he will not ! ’ 

Another minute. The galleon gave a sudden jar, and stopped. 
Theij one long heave and bound, as if to free herself. And then 
her bows lighted clean upon the Shutter. 

An awful silence fell on every English soul. They heard 
not the roaring of wind and surge ; they saw not the blinding 
flashes of the lightning; but they heard one long, ear-piercing 
wail to every saint in heaven rise from five hundred human 
throats ; they saw the mighty ship heel over from the wind, 
and sweep headlong down the cataract of tlie race, plunging 
her yards into the foam, and showing her whole black side, 
even to her keel, till she rolled clean over, and vanished for 
ever and ever. 

‘Shame ! ’ cried Arnyas, hurling his sword far into the sea, 
‘ to lose my right, my right ! when it was in my very grasp ! 
Unmerciful ! ’ 

A crack which rent the sky and made the granite ring and 
quiver ; a bright world of flame, and then a blank of utter dark- 
ness, against which stood out, glowing red hot, every mast, and 
sail, and rock, and Salvation Yeo, as he stood just in front of 
Arnyas, the tiller in his hand — all red-hot, transfigured into 
fire ; and behind, the black, black night. 

A whisper, a rustling close beside him, and Brimblecombe’s 
voice said softly, — 

‘ Give him more wine. Will ; his eyes are opening.’ 

‘ Hey dey ! ’ said Arnyas, faintly, ‘ not past the Shutter yet ! 
How long she hangs in the wind ! ’ 

‘ We are long past the Shutter, Sir Arnyas,’ said Brimble- 
combe. 

‘ Are you mad ? Cannot I trust my own eyes ? ’ 

There was no answer for awhile. 

‘ We are past the Shutter, indeed,’ said Cary, very gently, 
‘ and lying in the cove at Lundy.’ 

‘ Will you tell me that that is not the Shutter, and that the 
Devirs-limekiln, and that the cliff — that villain Spaniard only 
gone — and that Yeo is not standing here by me, and Cary 
there forward, and — why, by the bye, where are you, Jack 
Brimblecombe, who were talking to me this minute .? ’ 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


577 


‘ Oh, Sir Amyas Leigh, dear Sir Amyas Leigh,’ blubbered 
poor Jack, ‘ put out your hand, and feel where you are, and 
pray the Lord to forgive you for your wilfulness ! ’ 

A great trembling fell upon Amyas Leigh ; half fearfully he 
put out his hand ; he felt that he was in his hammock, with the 
deck-beams close above his head. The vision which had been 
left upon his eye-balls vanished like a dream. 

‘ VVhat is this } I must be asleep .? What has happened ? 
Where am I ’ 

‘ In your cabin, Amyas,’ said Cary. 

* What and where is Yeo ’ 

‘ Yeo is gone where he longed to go, and as he longed to go. 
The same flash which struck you down, struck him dead.’ 

‘ Dead ? Lightning } Any more hurt ? I must go and see. 
Why, what is this ? ’ and Amyas passed his hand across his 
eyes. ‘ It is all dark — dark, as I live ! ’ And he passed his 
hand over his eyes again. 

There was another dead silence. Amyas broke it. 

‘ Oh, God ! ’ shrieked the great, proud sea-captain ; ‘ Oh, 
God, I am blind ! blind ! blind ! ’ And writhing in his great 
horror, he called to Cary to kill him and put him out of his 
misery, and then wailed for his mother to come and help him, 
as if he had been a boy once more ; while Brimblecombe and 
Cary, and the sailors who crowded round the cabin-door, wept 
as if they too had been boys once more. 

Soon his fit of frenzy passed off, and he sank back exhausted. 

They lifted him into their remaining boat, rowed him ashore, 
carried him painfully up the hill to the old castle, and made a 
bed for him on the floor in the very room in which Don Guz- 
man and Rose Salterne had plighted their troth to each other, 
five wild years before. 

Three miserable days were passed within that lonely tower. 
Amyas, utterly unnerved by the horror of his misfortune, and 
by the over-excitement of the last few weeks, was incessantly 
delirious : while Cary, and Brimblecombe, and the men, nursed 
him by turns, as sailors and wives only can nurse ; and listened 
with awe to his piteous self-reproaches and entreaties to Heaven 
to remove that woe, which, as he shrieked again and again, was 
a just judgment on him for his wilfulness and ferocity. The 
surgeon talked, of course, learnedly about melancholic humors, 
and his liver being ‘adust by the over-pungency of the animal 
spirits,’ and then fell back on the universal panacea of blood- 
letting, which he effected with fear and trembling during a 
short interval of prostration ; encouraged by which he attempted 
to administer a large bolus of aloes, was knocked down for his 
49 


578 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


pains, and then thought it better to leave Nature to her own work. 
In the meanwhile, Cary had sent off one of the island skiffs to 
Clovelly, with letters to his father and to Mrs. Leigh, entreating 
the latter to come off to the island : but the heavy westerly 
winds made that as impossible as it was to move Amyas on 
board, and the men had to do their best, and did it well enough. 

On the fourth day his raving ceased : but he was still too 
weak to be moved. Toward noon, however, he called for 
food, ate a little, and seemed revived. 

‘ Will,’ he said, after awhile, ‘ this room is as stifling as it is 
dark. I feel as if I should be a sound man once more, if I 
could but get one snuff of the sea-breeze.’ 

The surgeon shook his head at the notion of moving him : 
but Amyas was peremptory. 

‘ 1 am captain still, Tom Surgeon, and will sail for the Indies, 
if I choose. Will Cary, Jack Brimblecombe, will you obey a 
blind general ? ’ 

‘ What you will in reason,’ said they both at once. 

‘ Then lead me out, my masters, and over the down to the 
south end. To the point at the south end I must go ; there is 
no other place will suit.’ 

And he rose firmly to his feet, and held out his hands for 
theirs. 

‘ Let him have his humor,’ whispered Cary. ‘ It may be the 
working off of his madness.’ 

‘ This sudden strength is a note of fresh fever, Mr. Lieuten- 
ant,’ said the surgeon, ‘and the rules of the art prescribe rather 
a fresh blood-letting.’ 

• Amyas overheard the last word, and broke out, — 

‘ Thou pig-sticking Philistine, wilt thou make sport with blind 
Samson ? Come near me to let blood from my arm, and see 
if I do not let blood from thy coxcomb. Catch him. Will, and 
bring him to me here ! ’ 

The surgeon vanished as the blind giant made a step forward ; 
and they set forth, Amyas walking slowly, but firmly, between 
his two friends. 

‘ Whither ? ’ asked Cary. 

‘ To the south end — the crag above the Devil’s Lime-kiln. 
No other place will suit.’ 

Jack gave a murmur, and half-stopped, as a frightful suspi- 
cion crossed him. 

‘ That is a dangerous place.’ 

‘ What of that ? ’ said Amyas, who caught his meaning in his 
tone. ‘ Dost think lam going to leap over the cliff,? I have not 
heart enough for that On, lads, and set me safe among the 
rocks.’ 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


579 


So, slowly and painfully, they went on, while Amyas mur- 
mured to himself, — 

‘ No, no other place will suit ; I can see all thence.’ 

So on they went to the point, where the cyclopean wall of 
granite cliff which forms the western side of Lundy, ends 
sheer in a precipice of some three hundred feet, topped by a 
pile of snow-white rock, bespangled with golden lichens. As 
they approached, a raven, who sat upon the topmost stone, black 
against the bright blue sky, flapped lazily away, and sank down 
the abysses of the cliff, as if he scented the corpses underneath 
the surge. Below them from the Gull-rock rose a thousand 
birds, and filled the air with sound ; the choughs cackled, the 
hacklets wailed, the great blackbacks laughed querulous defi- 
ance at the intruders, and a single falcon, with an angry bark, 
dashed out from beneath their feet, and hung poised high aloft, 
watching the sea-fowl which swung slowly round and round 
below. 

It was a glorious sight upon a glorious day. To the north- 
ward the glens rushed down toward the cliff, crowned with 
gray crags, and carpeted with purple heather and green fern ; 
and from their feet stretched away to the westward the sapphire 
rollers of the vast Atlantic, crowned with a thousand crests of 
flying foam. On their left hand, some ten m'iles to the south, 
stood out against the sky the purple wall of Hartland cliffs, 
sinking lower and lower as they trended away to the southward 
along the lonely iron-bound shores of Cornwall, until they faded, 
dim and blue, into the blue horizon forty miles away. 

The sky was flecked with clouds, which rushed toward them 
fast upon the roaring south-west wind, and the warm ocean- 
breeze swept up the cliffs, and whistled through the heather- 
bells, and howled in cranny and in crag, 

‘ Till the pillars and clefts of the granite 
Rang like a God-swept lyre ; ’ 

while Amyas, a proud smile upon his lips, stood breasting that 
genial stream of airy wine with swelling nostrils and fast- 
heaving chest, and seemed to drink in life from every gust. 
All three were silent for awhile ; and Jack and Cary, gazing 
downward with delight upon the glory and the grandeur of the 
si"ht, forgot for awhile that their companion saw it not. Yet 
when they started sadly, and looked into his face, did he not 
see it ? So wide and eager were his eyes, so bright and calm 
his face, that they fancied for an instant that he was once more 
even as they. 


580 


HOW AMYAS THREW 


A deep sigh undeceived them. ‘ I know it is all here — the 
dear old sea, where I would live and die. And my eyes feel 
for it ; feel for it — and cannot find it ; never, never will find 
it again for ever ! God’s will be done ! ’ 

‘ Do you say that ? ’ asked Brimblecombe, eagerly. 

‘ Why should I not ? Why have I been raving in hell-fire, 
for I know not how many days, but to find out that, John Brim- 
blecombe, thou better man than 1 ? ’ 

‘ Not that last : but Amen ! Amen ! and the Lord has indeed 
had mercy upon thee ! ’ said Jack, through his hpnest tears. 

‘ Amen ! ’ said Amyas. ‘ Now set me where 1 can rest among 
the rocks without fear of falling — for life is sweet still, even 
without eyes, friends, — and leave me to myself awhile.’ 

It was no easy matter to find a safe place ; for from the foot 
of the crag the heathery turf slopes down all but upright, on 
one side to a cliff which overhangs a shoreless cove of deep dark 
sea, and on the other to an abyss even more hideous, where the 
solid rock has sunk away, and opened inland in the hillside a 
smooth-walled pit, some sixty-feet square and some hundred and ^ 
fifty in depth, aptly known then, as now, as the Devil’s Lime-kiln ; 
the mouth of which, as old wives say, was once closed by the 
Shutter-rock itself, till the fiend in malice hurled it into the sea, 
to be a pest to mariners. A narrow and untrodden cavern at 
the bottom connects it with the outer sea ; they could even then 
hear the mysterious thunder and gurgle of the surge in the 
subterranean adit, as it rolled huge boulders to and fro in dark- 
ness, and forced before it gusts of pent-up air. It was a spot 
to curdle weak blood, and to make weak heads reel : but all the 
fitter on that account for Amyas and his fancy. 

‘ You can sit here as in an arm-chair,’ said Cary, helping 
him down to one of those square natural seats so common in 
the granite tors. 

‘ Good ; now turn my face to the Shutter. Be sure and 
exact. So ! Do I face it full ? ’ 

‘ Full,’ said Cary. 

‘ Then I need no eyes wherewith to see what is before me,’ 
said he with a sad smile. ‘ I know every stone and every head- 
land, and every wave too, I may say, far beyond aught that eye 
can reach. Now go, and leave me alone with God and with the 
dead ! ’ 

They retired a little space and watched him. He never 
stirred for many minutes ; then leaned his elbows on his knees, 
and his head upon his hands, and so was still again. He 
remained so long thus, that the pair became anxious, and went 
towards him. He was asleep, and breathing quick and heavily. 


HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 


581 


‘ He will take a fever,’ said Brimblecombe, ‘ if he sleeps 
much longer with his head down in 'the sunshine.’ 

‘ We must wake him gently, if we wake him at all.’ And 
Cary moved forward to him. 

As he did so, Amyas lifted his head, and turning it to right 
and left, felt round him with his sightless eyes. 

‘ You have been asleep, Amyas.’ 

‘ Have I ? I have not slept back my eyes, then. Take up 
this great useless carcase of mine, and lead me home. I shall 
buy me a dog when I get to Burrough, I think, and make him 
tow me in a string, eh } So ! Give me your hand. Now, 
march ! ’ 

His guides heard with surprise this new cheerfulness. 

‘ Thank God, Sir, that your heart is so light already,’ said 
good Jack ; ‘ it makes me feel quite upraised myself, like.’ 

I have reason to be cheerful. Sir John ; I have left a heavy 
load behind me. I have been wilful, and proud, and a blas- 
phemer, and swollen with cruelty and pride ; and God has 
brought me low for it, and cut me off from my evil delight. 
No more Spaniard-hunting for me now, my masters. God will 
send no such fools as I upon his errands.’ 

‘ You do not repent’ of fighting the Spaniards ? ’ 

‘ Not I : but of hating even the worst of them. Listen to 
me. Will and Jack. If that man wronged me, I wronged him 
likewise. I have been a fiend, when I thought myself tho 
grandest of men, yea, a very avenging, angel out of heaven. 
But God has shown me my sin, and we have made up our 
quarrel for ever.’ 

‘ Made it up ? ’ 

‘ Made it up, thank God. But I am weary. ' Set me down 
awhile, and I will tell you how it befell.’ 

Wondering, they set him down upon the heather, while the 
bees hummed round them in the sun ; and Amyas felt for a 
hand of each, and clasped it in his own hand, and began, — 

‘ When you left me there upon the rock, lads, I looked away 
and out to sea, to get one last snuff of the merry sea-breeze, 
which will never sail me again. And as I looked, I tell you 
truth, I could see the water and the sky, as plain as ever I saw 
them, till I thought my sight was come again. But soon I 
knew it was not so ; for I saw more than man could see ; right 
over the ocean, as 1 live, and away to the Spanish Main. And 
I saw Barbados, and Granada, and all the isles that we ever 
sailed by ; and La Guayra in Caraccas, and the Silla, and the 
house beneath it where she lived. And I saw him walking 
49 * 


582 HOW AMYAS THREW HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA. 

with her, on the barbecue, and he loved her then. I saw what 
I saw ; and he loved her ; and I say he loves her still. 

‘ Then I saw the cliffs beneath me, and the Gull-rock, and 
the Shutter, and the Ledge ; I saw them. Will Cary, and 
the weeds beneath the merry blue sea. And I saw the grand 
old galleon. Will ; she has righted with the sweeping of the 
tide. She lies in fifteen fathoms, at the edge of the rocks, upon 
the sand ; and her men are all lying round her, asleep until the 
judgment day.’ 

Cary and Jack looked at him, and then at each other. His 
eyes were clear, and bright, and full of meaning ; and yet they 
knew that he was blind. His voice was shaping itself into a 
song. Was he inspired? Insane ? What was it? And they 
listened with awe-struck faces, as the giant pointed down into 
the blue depths far below, and wq^t on. 

‘ And I saw him sitting in his cabin, like a valiant gentleman 
of Spain ; and his officers were sitting round him, with their 
swords upon the table, at the wine. And the prawns and the cray- 
fish and the rockling, they swam in and Out above their heads : 
but Don Guzman he never heeded, but sat still, and drank his 
wine. Then he took a locket from his bosom ; and I heard 
him speak. Will, and he said : “ Here’s the picture of my fair 
and true lady ; drink to her, Senors all.” Then he spoke to me. 
Will, and called me, right up through the oar-weed and the 
sea; “ We have had a fair quarrel, Senor ; it is time to be 
friends once more. My wife and your brother have forgiven 
me ; so your Jionor takes no stain.” And I answered, We are 
friends, Don Guzman ; God has judged our quarrel, and not 
we.” Then he said, “ I sinned, and I am punished.” And I said, 
“ And, Senor, so am I.” Then he held out his hand to me, 
Cary ; and I stooped to take it, and awoke.’ 

He ceased ; and they looked in his face again. It was ex- 
hausted, but clear and gentle, like the face of a new-born babe. 
Gradually his head dropped upon his breast again ; he was 
either swooning or sleeping, and they had much ado to get him 
home. There he lay for eight-and-forty hours, in a quiet doze ; 
then arose suddenly, called /or food, ate heartily, and seemed, 
saving his eyesight, as whole and sound as ever. The surgeon 
bade thern get him home to Northam as soon as possible, and 
he was willing enough to go. So the next day the Vengeance 
sailed, leaving behind a dozen men to seize and keep in the 
Queen’s name any goods which should be washed up from the 
wreck. 


HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL. 


583 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL. 

* Would you hear a Spanish lady. 

How she woo’d an Englishman ? 

Garments gay and rich as may be, 

Decked with jewels had she on.’ 

Elizabethan Ballad. 

It was the first of October. The morning was bright and 
still ; the skies were 'dappled modestly from east to west with 
soft gray autumn cloud, as if all heaven and earth were resting 
after those fearful summer months of battle and of storm. 
Silently, as if ashamed and sad, the Vengeance slid over the 
bar, and passed the sleeping sand-hills, and dropped her anchor 
off Appledore, with her flag floating half-mast high ; for the 
corpse of Salvation Yeo was on board. 

A boat pulled off from the ship, and away to the western end 
of the strand ; and Cary and Brimblecombe helped out Amyas 
Leigh, and led him slowly up the hill toward his home. 

The crowd clustered round him, with cheers and blessings, 
and sobs of pity from kind-hearted women; for all in Apple- 
dore and Bideford knew well by this time what had befallen 
him. 

‘ Spare me, my good friends,’ said Amyas, ‘ I have landed 
here that I might go quietly home, without passing through the 
town, and being made a gazing-stock. • Think not of me, good 
folks, nor talk of me ; but come behind me decently, as Chris- 
tian men, and follow to the grave the body of a better man 
than I.’ 

And, as he spoke, another boat came off, and in it, covered 
with the flag of England, the body of Salvation Yeo. 

The people took Amyas at his word ; and a man was sent 
on to Burrough, to tell Mrs. Leigh that her son was coming. 
When the coffin was landed and lifted, Amyas and his friends 
took their places behind it as chief mourners, and the crew 
followed in order, while the crowd fell in behind them, and 


584 


HOW AMYAS 


gathered every moment ; till ere they were half-way to 
Northam town, the funeral train might number full five hun- 
dred souls. 

They had sent over by a fishing-skiff the day before, to bid the 
sexton dig the grave ; and when they came into the churchyard, 
the parson stood ready waiting at the gate. 

Mrs. Leigh stayed quietly at home ; for she had no heart to 
face the crowd ; and though her heart yearned for her son, yet 
she was well content (when was she not content.?) that he 
should do honor to his ancient and faithful servant ; so she sat 
down in the bay-window, with Ayacanora by her side ; and 
when the tolling of the bell ceased, she opened her prayer- 
book, and began to read the burial-service. 

‘ Ayacanora,’ she said, ‘ they are burying old Master Yeo, 
who loved you, and sought you over the wide, wide world, and 
saved you from the teeth of the crocodile. Are you not sorry 
for him, child, that you look so gay to-day .? ’ 

Ayacanora blushed and hung down her head ; she was 
thinking of nothing, poor child, but Amyas. 

The burial-service was done ; the blessing said ; the parson 
drew back : but the people lingered and crowded round to look 
at the coffin, while Amyas stood still at the head of the grave. 
It had been dug by his command, at the west end of the church, 
near by the .foot of the tall, gray, wind-swept tower, which 
watches for a beacon far and wide over land and sea. Perhaps 
the old man might like to look at the sea, and see the ships 
come out and in across the bar, and hear the wind, on winter 
nights, roar through the belfry far above his head. Why not ? 
It was but a fancy : and yet Amyas felt that he too should like 
to be buried in such a place ; so Yeo might like it also. 

Still the crowd lingered; and looked first at the grave and 
then at the blind giant who stood over it, as if they felt, by in- 
stinct, that something more ought to come. And something 
more did come. Amyas drew himself up to his full height, 
and waved his hand majestically, as one about to speak ; while 
the eyes of all men were fastened on him. 

Twice he essayed to begin ; and twice the words were choked 
upon his lips ; and then, — 

‘ Good people all, and seamen, among whom I was bred, and 
to whom I come home blind this day, to dwell with you till 
death, — here lieth the flower and pattern of all bold mariners; 
the truest of friends, and the most terrible of foes ; unchangeable 
of purpose, crafty of counsel, and swift of execution ; in triumph 
most sober ; in failure (as God knows I have found full many 
a -day) of endurance beyond mortal man. Who first of all 


LET THE APPLE FALL. 


585 


Britons helped to humble the pride of the Spaniard at Rio de la 
Hacha and Nombre, and first of all sailed upon those South 
Seas, which shall be hereafter, by God’s grace, as free to 
English keels as is the bay outside. Who having afterwards 
been purged from his youthful sins by strange afflictions and 
torments unspeakable, suffered at the hands of the Popish enemy, 
learned therefrom, my masters, to fear God, and to fear nought 
else ; and having acquitted himself worthily in his place and 
calling as a righteous scourge of the Spaniard, and a faithful 
soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ, is now exalted to his reward, 
as Elijah was of old, in a chariot of fire unto heaven ; letting 
fall, I trust and pray, upon you who are left behind, the mantle 
of his valor and his godliness, that so these shores may never 
be without brave and pious mariners, who will count their lives 
as worthless in the cause of their Country, their Bible, and 
their Queen. Amen.’ 

And' feeling for his companions’ hands, he walked slowly 
from the churchyard, and across the village street, and up the 
lane to Burrough gales; while the crowd made way for him in 
solemn silence, as for an awful being, shut up alone with all 
his strength, valor, and fame, in the dark prison-house of his 
mysterious doom. 

He seemed to know perfectly when they had reached the 
gates, opened the lock with his own hands, and went boldly 
forward along the gravel path, while Cary and Brimblecombe 
followed him trembling; for they expected some violent burst 
of emotion either from him or his mother, and the two good 
fellows’ lender hearts were fluttering like a girl’s. Up to the 
door he went, as if he had seen it ! felt for the entrance, stood 
therein, and called quietly, ‘ Mother! ’ 

In a moment his mother was on his bosom. 

Neither spoke for awhile. She sobbing inwardly with tear- 
less eyes, he standing firm and cheerful, with his great arms 
clasped around her. 

‘ Mother ! ’ he said at last, ‘ I am come home, you see, 
because I needs must come. Will you take me in, and look 
after this useless carcase ? I shall not be so very troublesome, 
mother, — shall I ? ’ and he looked down, and smiled upon her, 
and kissed her brow. 

She answered not a word, but passed her arm gently round 
his waist, and led him in. 

‘ Take care of your head, dear child, the doors are low.’ 
And they went in together. 

‘ Will ! Jack ! ’ called A'myas, turning round ; but the two 
good fellows had walked briskly off. 


586 


HOW AMYAS 


‘ I’m glad we are away,’ said Cary ; ‘ I should have made a 
baby of myself in another minute, watching that angel of a 
woman. How her face worked ! and how she kept it in ! ’ 

‘ Ah, well ! ’ said Jack, ‘ there goes a brave servant of the 
Queen’s, cut off before his work was a quarter done. Heigho ! 
1 must home now, and see my old father, and then — ’ 

‘ And then home with me,’ said Cary. ‘ You and I never 
part again ! We have pulled in the same boat too long. Jack ; 
and you must not go spending your prize-money in riotous 
living. I must see after you, old Jack ashore, or we shall have 
you treating half the town in taverns for a week to come.’ 

‘ Oh, Mr. Cary ! ’ said Jack, scandalized. 

‘ Come home with me, and we’ll poison the parson, and my 
father shall give you the rectory.’ 

‘ Oh, Mr. Cary ! ’ said Jack. 

So the two went off to Clovelly together that very day. 

And Amyas was sitting all alone. His mother had gone out 
for a few minutes to speak to the seamen who had brought up 
Amyas’s luggage, and set them down to eat and drink ; and 
Amyas sat in the old bay-window, where he had sat when he 
was a little tiny boy, and read King Arthur, and Fox’s Marlyrs, 
and The Cruelties of the Spaniards. He put out his hand 
and felt for them ; there they lay side by side, just as they had 
lain twenty years before. The window was open ; and a cool 
air brought in as of old the scents of the four-season roses, and 
rosemary, and autumn gilliflowers. And there was a dish of 
apples on the table ; he knew it by their smell ; the very same 
old apples which he used to gather when he was a boy. He 
put out his hand and took them, and felt them over, and played 
with them, just as if the twenty years -had never been ; and 
as he fingered them, the whole of his past life rose up before 
him, as in that strange dream which is said to flash across the 
imagination of a drowning man ; and he saw all the places 
which he had ever seen, and heard all the words which had 
ever been spoken to him — till he came to that fairy island on 
the Meta ; and he heard the roar of the cataract once more, 
and saw the green tops of the palm-trees sleeping in the sun- 
light far above the spray, and stept amid the smooth palm- 
trunks across the flower-fringed boulders, and leaped down to 
the gravel beach beside the pool ; and then again rose from the 

fern-grown rocks the beautiful vision of Ayacanora Where 

was she ? He had not thought of her till now. How he had 
wronged her ! Let be ; he had been punished, and the account 
was squared. Perhaps she did not care for him any longer. 
Who would care for a great blind ox like him, who must be 


LET THE APPLE FALL. 


5S7 


fed and tended like a baby for the rest of his lazy life ? Tut ! 
How long his mother was away ! And he began playing again 
with his apples, and thought about nothing but them, and his 
climbs with Frank in the orchard years ago. 

At last one of them slipt througli his fingers, and fell on the 
floor. He stooped and felt for it ; but he could not find it. 
Vexatious ! He turned hastily to search in another direction, 
and struck his head sharply against the table. 

Was it the pain, or the little disappointment.? or was it the 
gense of his blindness brought home to him in that ludicrous 
common-place way, and for that very reason all the more 
humiliating ? Or was it the sudden revulsion of overstrained 
nerves, produced by that slight shock ? Or had he become 
indeed a child once more ? 1 know not ; but so it was, that he 

stamped on the floor with pettishness, and then checking himself, 
burst into a violent flood of tears. 

A quick rustle passed him ; the apple was replaced in his . 
hand, and Ayacanora’s voice sobbed out, — 

‘ There ! there it is ! do not weep ! Oh, do not weep ! I 
cannot bear it! 1 will get all you want I Only let me fetch and 
carry for you, tend you, feed you, lead you, like your slave, 
your dog ! Say that I may 1 Say that I may be your slave I ’ 
and falling on her knees at his feet, she seized both his hands, 
and covered them with kisses. 

‘ Yes I ’ she cried, ‘ 1 will be your slave ! I must be ! You 
cannot help it ! You cannot escape from me now 1 You 
cannot go to sea ; You cannot turn your back upon wretched 
me. I have you safe now ! Safe ! and she .clutched his 
hands triumphantly. ‘ Ah ! and what a wretch I am, to rejoice 
in that! to taunt him with his blindness! Oh, forgive me ! I 
am but a poor wild girl — a wild Indian savage, you know ; 
but — but — ’ and she burst into tears. 

A great spasm shook the body and soul of Amyas Leigh ; 
he sat quite silent for a minute, and then said solemnly : — 

• ‘ And is this still possible .? Then God have mercy upon me 
a sinner ! ’ 

Ayacanora looked up in his face inquiringly ; but before she 
could speak again, he had bent down, and lifting her as the 
lion lifts the lamb, pressed her to his bosom, and covered her 
face with kisses. 

The door opened. There was the rustle of a gown ; Aya- 
canora sprang from him with a little cry, and stood, half-trem- 
bling, half-defiant, as if to say — ‘ He is mine now; no one 
dare part him from me ! ’ . 

‘ VVho is it .? ’ asked Amyas. 


588 


HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL. 


‘ Your mother.’ 

‘ You see that I am bringing forth fruits meet for repentance, 
mother,’ said he with a smile. 

He heard her approach. Then a kiss and a sob passed 
between'the women ; and he felt Ayacanora sink once more 
upon his bosom. 

‘ Amyas, my son,’ said the silver voice of Mrs. Leigh, low, 
dreamy, like the far-off chimes of angels’ bells from out the 
highest heaven ; ‘ fear not to take her to your heart again ; for 
it is your mother who has laid her there.’ 

‘ It is true after all,’ said Amyas to himself. ‘ What God has 
joined together, man cannot put asunder.’ 

From that hour Ayacanora’s power of song returned to her ; 
and day by day, year after year, her voice rose up within that 
happy home, and soared, as on a sky-lark’s wings, into the 
highest heaven, bearing with it the peaceful thoughts of the 
blind giant back to the Paradises of the West, in the wake of 
the heroes who from that time forth sailed out to colonize 
another and a vaster England, to the Heaven-prospered cry of 
W estward-Ho ! 



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